Of Super Powers, Slums, and Sweethearts
by E-Raptor
Summary: In the slum of a Brazilian city Kyla Amano is criminal, using her amazing powers to earn a living. SHIELD comes knocking and gets her in trouble with a couple revenge-seeking drug dealers. Now, a year later when an Avenger needs help, will she put aside her anger?...Or will she leave the fate of the world to someone else? Does she have what it takes to be an Avenger?
1. Chapter 1

Like all third-world Hell-holes, this one was cold, dark, and prone to crime and intestinal parasites, and like all people living in third-world Hell-holes, Kyla Amano had found herself able to ignore it after a lifetime of breathing the toxic air and listening to the wolf-whistles as she walked down the street. She was the master of tolerance and the conqueror of the slum.

She lived in Brazil, but she didn't like it there. In fact, she would have left the moment she escaped from the church orphanage she grew up in, but the thing about customs agents…they don't like it when you don't officially exist in any record book. She was a 19-year-old illegitimate child with an illegitimate background and an illegitimate way to earn her living; she stole from people. Albeit, they were very _bad_ people, but still. It wasn't ideal. Only one thing kept her from being splattered all over the local drug cartel's floor, and that was her gift. She had super powers…at least what a comic book would refer to as a super power. Kyla could climb up walls like a gecko, jump ten feet straight up, and had martial arts skills that Bruce Lee might envy. She had a very specific skillset, and that skillset just happened to suit the criminal career path rather well.

Now as Kyla moved with cat-like stealth down the back alley of the "Dancing Lady", she went over her most recent employer's orders in her head.

"_Don't make a mess…_" He had ordered in Portuguese. "_…Don't waste time, don't hesitate to kill, and don't…Forget…My…Damn…Drugs!"_

So here she was, stealing pot from a drug dealer for a bigger drug dealer all for…what was it…2%? Her talents were greatly abused, but what could she do?

Kyla smiled to herself, creating a mental picture of their expressions when she ripped them both off simultaneously and turned them in to the angry brother of the first dealer. (He had offered her a hell of a lot more than 2%...)

With this goal in mind, she crouched behind a long disused dumpster and looked up at the top floor window of the dance club. All the rich boys and their girlfriends were inside tonight, drawn like moths to porch-lights by the massive sale of drugs going down tonight. Kyla was repulsed by the lot of them. She stole it and sold it. She didn't use it.

Kyla was dressed all in black. That included her black hoody, black skinny-jeans, and black sneakers. As she continued to watch the window waiting for the light to go out she reached into her backpack and pulled out her knife. She clamped it in her teeth and pulled her long black hair into a ponytail and tucked it under her hood. She then bent down and took off her shoes. Given the large amount of broken glass and shattered beer bottles on the ground this would usually be unadvised, but Kyla knew full well that her gift wouldn't work through sneakers. Now barefoot and suited up, all she had to do was wait.

Another five minutes passed without incident and she spent that time focusing on her strategy. Get in, take out any security, lock the door from the inside, and get out the window with as much weed and intel as she could carry, and hey…if she happened to find a couple hundred dollar bills in an easy to crack safe, who'd be the wiser? Suddenly there were voices in the window above her and the light went out. The sound of a closing door was her signal to go.

Throwing her pack on, she stood up and walked to the other side of the alley, opposite the club building. She checked both ways to make sure no one was watching, and launched herself across the alley, lightly sticking to the brick wall like a frog on a leaf. Her bare feet and hands were more than enough to support her small 90-pound frame and without hesitation she clambered up the wall. She stopped just below the window and slowly lifted her head up just enough to peer in the closed window. The room beyond the glass was dark, but Kyla gave a silent swear when she noted that the window was locked. It wouldn't stop her, but she didn't like to be detained. She let one hand release from the wall and pulled her knife out of her teeth. She spat out the taste of the rust metal in her mouth and got to work on the cheap latch on the window. It was off in less than a minute and Kyla wondered vaguely what these guys would do if they walked in on her steeling their drugs. She figured that all of them were probably too stoned from second-hand smoke to put up much fuss anyway, so she got back to work.

She momentarily had to release both of her hands from the wall to open the dirty window, but after doing this a couple hundred times, falling off a building seemed like a rooky mistake. She did a second quick check of the room to make sure no one was asleep inside before she slipped in, leaving the window open behind her. The room was pitch-black, the only light coming through the crack under the door. The whole place smelled sickeningly of drugs and beer. Kyla blinked back the water her eyes immediately began to produce in the toxic atmosphere and got to work. She pulled a flashlight out of her old pack and shined it into a dark corner of the room. She nearly screamed, and she wasn't the screaming type.

There was a man there, well dressed and in his mid-forties. He had short brown hair and had the air of someone Kyla rarely saw around the slums…a government worker. He had that stuck up, "I-know-everything-that-you-wish-you-did" look to him and he was smiling, something that people in the slums just _don't_ do.

"Hello Kyla Amano." He said. American. Great.

"Eu não falo Inglês…" ("_I don't speak English…"_) She rattled off, putting on her best dumb-girl face. The truth was that she spoke flawless English, but this approach usually worked with the few government snoops she had dealt with over the years. It wasn't working on this guy.

"My name is Agent Coulson. I want you to…"

He reached his right hand into his jacket and instinct took over. She dealt "Agent Coulson" a sidekick to the head and a punch to the stomach. He dropped like a stone with a loud cough and yell of surprise.

"Dammit." Kyla muttered.

Down the hall outside of the room came the footsteps of men yelling obscene phrases in Portuguese. Mixed in there was something about "_someone's in the weed room!_"

"Dammit…" Swore Kyla. "Dammit, dammit, dammit…" She made a run for the window, but paused, one leg out, looking back at the now unconscious Coulson. She looked out the window to freedom, and back at whom she _knew_ to be a dead man. If there was one thing stereotypical about drug dealers in Brazil it was their proficiency in torture and willingness to draw out death. A government guy didn't stand a chance.

"_Droga_..." She said again, this time in Portuguese. She darted back into the room and kicked Coulson in the ribs. "Get up!" She barked. He groaned and his hand shifted, revealing what he had been pulling out of his jacket, and it wasn't a gun. She swore and grabbed the envelope from his limp hand. Printed it was the all caps name, "SHIELD" in silver ink. She didn't have time to wonder what that was, not with the majority of the drug dealers this side of the Amazon banging on the door. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Coulson under the arms. She started to drag him to the window and it was at this point that she saw two flaws with her plan… a)Would Coulson fit through the window?...and, b)What if he did? That was a three story drop!

_Why can't everyone spider-crawl up walls?_ She thought bitterly.

She figured that she'd have to go out first and pull him down with her, praying that he didn't wake up half-way down.

She dumped him unceremoniously on the floor and crawled out of the window, supporting her weight on her feet on the vertical surface of the wall. She leaned over the windowsill, grunting at she lugged Coulson's dead weight over the floor toward her. The voices had stopped at the door and were listening. She knew she would have to do something to stop them from coming in.

"Eu tenho uma arma! Ficar de fora!" (loosely translated to,_ "I've got a gun! Stay out!"_)

She strained her not-insignificant muscle mass pulling the unconscious man out of the window. When he was halfway out his weight shifted and she nearly fell backwards as he tumbled out of the window and onto her shoulder. She yelled in frustration and stress, dropping Portuguese swears like leaves in the fall. She took a few steps down, awkwardly supporting Coulson's weight and listening to the cusses of the guys still on the other side of the door. She picked up the pace a little, letting her fingertips and toes brush the brick rather than get a firm grip on it. She was just getting to the second story window when she heard the slamming open of the door. _Crud_…

Looking up, Kyla came face to face with one god-ugly man. She gave him her signature shrug that all too clearly said, "_Well this is a turn up, isn't it_?" and continued to crawl down the wall. Once the man got over his shock at the spider-crawling girl on his building, he barked some incoherent orders to his men in the room behind him. Kyla was a foot past the second floor window when it was thrown open. Without thinking, she dropped Coulson letting him fall two stories, but thankfully hearing the thump of his body landing in the cardboard-filled dumpster, not on asphalt. Kyla reached up to punch the man now leaning out of the window grabbing at her, but he blocked her effortlessly. He held her arm and twisted it with a crunch. She gasped in pain and tried to lay a kick on him, but by doing so lost her grip on the wall. She was pulled inside of the building and her last sight was of the envelope Coulson had tried to give her falling through the air. It landed silently beside the unconscious agent…unread by its intended recipient.


	2. Chapter 2

One year later 

Kyla thought she was done with helping people. In fact, she was sure of it. Helping Agent Coulson of SHIELD had cost her way too much to risk it again…She had lost her livelihood, her status, and nearly her life.

She had once lived in a moderately waterproof apartment, and now she lived in a shed. Not a shack, not a barn, a _shed_. She was sitting on the side of the road, one hand in her pocket, reflexively clenching the handle of her knife. The other hand was lying on her bent knee, the unhealed black ring around her wrist still there a year after the druggy had twisted it. It was probably broken, but Kyla honestly didn't care. She only needed one hand to steal food from street vendors.

She was _done_ helping people. It had brought her nothing but trouble.

Well, fate sometimes screws with you when you make a decision like that…

On this day in particular, Kyla had been having a moderately successful morning of thieving. She had under her jacket a stolen passion fruit, small bag of rice and a bottle of boiled (and thus _clean_) water. She stood up from her customary place on the curb and started off for home, blending in easily with the masses of poorly dressed and malnourished people on the streets. It was the height of the day and the venders would be closing up for a short time until the sun settled down. No one wanted to shop in the stifling equatorial heat.

As Kyla walked, she tried to correct the limp she had suffered ever since her time with the dealers. They hadn't gone easy on her because she was a young girl. In the slums, children were just spies with a couple less pounds on them. Anyway, she had been 16 at the time…and that hardly counted as a child.

There was an alley that cut through a backstreet and led directly to Kyla's shed, but she rarely used it for fear that she would be followed by prowlers. Today however, she was too tired and the sun was too hot to do much walking.

This decision to take the shortcut changed her life. As she walked along the building that sheltered her small home from the main road, a life-changing thing dropped out of the sky…quite literally. Kyla screamed and jumped to the side as something fell off of the roof of the building and thudded to the ground. It lay there at her feet. It was a person. She stared at them, and they didn't move. It had been a while since she had seen a jumper…but there _were_ some pretty depressed people in the slums. She took a step away and started to walk back to her shed, praying that the body would be gone the next morning.

A rattling cough echoed in the alley behind her. She froze. Slowly she turned, gaping at the body. They were certainly dressed strangely. They were wearing a black and maroon muscle-shirt style top and fitted black pants. It was only now that she noticed the weapon that had fallen beside them. It looked like a bow and arrow set, quiver and all…

"Excuse me?" She said quietly, unaccustomed to using her voice. This figure, a man, moved a little but could only manage a groan. Kyla had a flashback to the horrible things that had happened to her because of someone needing her help. She turned and walked defiantly back to her shed.

_No, not today, not tomorrow, not any day. I don't care _who_ they are, I don't care _why_ they're dying in my front yard, I'm _not_ interested!_ She thought, but she couldn't lie, not even to herself.

She stopped at the old wooden door of her home, her hand reaching for the long-broken latch. She slowly peered over her shoulder. The guy was trying to get up and was obviously failing to do so, flopping back to the ground like a dying fish.

"Oh, _Hell_…" Kyla murmured as she ran back to the pitiful man's side.

He was struggling to get up but was unable to last more than a few seconds before gasping in pain and falling back down.

"Pare! Pare! Deixe-me ajudar ..." She said, trying to hold him down. This didn't seem to help. The guy was moving like he was trying to run away from something, but he was still on his stomach and Kyla couldn't see his face. "Stop moving!" She said, switching to English. "Let me help you!" The man's body went limp and he flopped back to the dirt. Kyla saw him raise a shaking hand, pointing at something down the road. There, about one block down, was a rather large group of angry-looking men with guns…_Of course._

"Okay, are they after you?" She asked, exasperated. They hadn't seen her and the man yet, but it was only a matter of time…they were headed their way. She saw the back of the man's head as he gave a small nod. "I need you to hold your breath, got it?" She regretted having to do this, but without knowing how badly the guy was hurt she couldn't help him. She waited until she saw his body shift as his lungs filled with air and then, as quickly as she could manage, she rolled him over onto his back. She slammed a hand over his mouth as he let out a blood-curdling yell of pain. Kyla looked up and almost met the gaze of one of the gunmen. She left her hand covering the man's mouth and dragged him toward a sheltered spot between a pile of scrap and the building. She didn't want to know what this must feel like, being dragged along dirt and asphalt with who knows _how_ many broken bones, but if those guys got a look at them they were both dead.

Kyla made she they were out of sight behind the scrap heap before breathing a sigh of relief and propping the man against the brick wall. She didn't remove her hand from his mouth until he was done yelling and swearing some pretty nasty things her way. She waited for him to say something else, but he appeared too stunned by her sudden actions to do much of anything. Kyla glanced over her shoulder at where they had just been. A rather incriminating trail of blood would have led anyone straight to them, but the ground was already filthy so it probably wasn't noticeable at a glance. Then again, that was a _lot_ of blood…

Kyla turned back to the man, finally getting a good look at him…though "good" might be a touch optimistic. He was white, so probably not from around here. His short-cut brown hair was caked with blood on one side and his scowling face had a large bruise forming across his left eye. These weren't all injuries from falling out of a second story window, these were from a fight.

"Who are you?" She asked, not bothering to hide her Brazilian accent. The man's closed eyes didn't open and he was breathing heavily.

"Bow…" He groaned.

"Huh?"

"Where's …m…y bow…?" He slurred, his eyes opening but unfocused. _Bow? What…_ Kyla looked over her shoulder to where she remembered seeing the bow and arrows. It was a weird thing to be requesting after falling off a building…

"Alright, I'll give you your bow, but first tell me your name." She demanded. He gave her a searching look and looked like he was about to say something, then slumped against the wall in a dead faint.

"Pelo amor de Deus…" ("_For Lord's sake…"_) She hissed. The voices of the men on the street had been stopped a few doors down, but now they were moving again, probably searching alleys and houses for this man, whoever he was. She wasn't going to be able to move this guy all the way to her shed by herself, at least not in time. She pulled her knife and made sure that the pair of them weren't visible from the street. She waited in an alert crouch, her heart rate rising as footsteps approached. She was very out of practice, not having to use her combat skills for well over a year, and prayed that she wouldn't be seen. In any fight between one person with a knife and eight men with guns, the odds weren't good.

Kyla reflected on the situation…five minutes ago her biggest problem was starvation, and now she was probably going to be shot over an argument she was never a part of.

_Damn my big heart…_ She thought to herself, slinking deeper into the shadows as the men passed by the alley. For a moment she was sure they were going to pass by without a second glance, but just as they were moving on the man at Kyla's side let out a raspy cough. She slammed a hand over his mouth but it was too late. One of the gunmen had turned and was pointing in their direction, yelling to the others that he had heard something.

Kyla muttered a few choice phrases under her breath and was about ready to slap the man beside her when his eyes opened. Kyla looked from him back to the advancing men and did a mental assessment of the situation… The injured man wasn't going anywhere, there were eight guys with guns ten feet away, and all she had was a six-inch pocket knife. _Well_…She suddenly thought._ I've always wanted to try acting…_

Kyla made a split second decision and surprised the hell out of the gunmen by dropping her knife and jumping to her feet, running out in front of them. _Was this a last ditch effort or what?_ She looked at them with a look of absolute terror and misery and coughed pitifully. She fell to the ground in what she hoped was a convincing faint. The men talked in hushed voices for several seconds. Kyla kept her eyes slightly open, her head facing the still-hidden man behind the scrap pile. He was more awake now by the looks of it, and he seemed to have caught on to her game and was silent. Kyla let her eyes close as one of the men laughed and leaned over her.

"Mendigo sujo!" (_"Filthy beggar!"_) He cackled and Kyla tried not to yell as he kicked her hard in the stomach and, laughing, led the rest of his gang back into the street. Kyla waited until she heard their voices drifting away into the road before opening her eyes. She groaned involuntarily as she struggled to a sitting position, holding the rapidly forming bruise on her stomach. She had braced herself for the blow, but nothing can really prepare you for a solid hit like that.

"You're tough kid." Said a voice. She spun around, almost forgetting the reason she had let herself get kicked in the first place. The man was peering at her with a curious gaze, his head slightly tilted to the side. She slowly got to her feet and stayed a good distance away, unsure how to approach him. She was also confused, he was American. The last American she had seen in the slums had been Coulson…

"Why are they after you?" She asked. He didn't answer. He wasn't ignoring her, just making clear that the question was going to go unanswered. She tried again. "Why did you fall off of the roof?"

"I didn't fall…" He said in a croaky voice. "I was pushed."

"What is your name?"

The pause that followed was enough to ensure Kyla that this man wasn't completely innocent. Only criminals conceal their true names.

"Call me Hawkeye."

"That's not a name."

"Are you saying I'm lying?"

"I'm saying that that's not your real name." She frowned, eyeing him suspiciously. This usually intimidated people she was speaking to, but this guy was unmoved. "Fine. I'll call you 'Hawkeye'." She agreed

"And what should I call you?"

Kyla stuttered, something she rarely did. Who was supposed to be asking the questions here? _Her_. He owed her his life after all…but somehow she found herself unable to avoid the question.

"Kyla." She said tersely. He gave her a pained smile.

"Thank you Kyla."

"No problem." She said. She glanced over at her shed. "Can I trust you?"

Hawkeye laughed, which made him cough again. "I should be asking you the same thing. No one helps a total stranger around here." He made a wide gesture to the slum outside the alley, wincing as he moved his arm. "People are too worried about taking care of themselves. Charity is suspicious."

Kyla was beginning to like this guy.

"Fine. I'm abnormal."

Hawkeye gave a kind of uncomfortable smile. "You can trust me. Honestly, what'll I do? _Bleed_ on you?"

Kyla shrugged in a so-so sort of way, somewhat enjoying the first conversation she had held in over a year. "Come on…" She said, stepping over to him and offering a hand. "I live over there." She nodded to her shed and he followed her gaze.

"Nice…" Hawkeye muttered under his breath, but Kyla heard him.

"What?" She snapped with a murderous look.

"No, really. Looks…cozy…" He said quickly. He did the smile again. Kyla decided to let that one slide.

Hawkeye looked slightly put out by the prospect of getting up, but with some hesitation he took her hand. She hoisted him to his feet and he immediately had to lean against the wall for support.

"Easy!" He barked angrily, rubbing his shoulder.

"Fine, walk yourself." She said, taking a step back and raising her hands sarcastically. She had a thing about people yelling at her. She turned and walked toward her home with blunt directness. She was a good ten feet down the alley before she was stopped.

"Wait…" Said a grudging voice behind her. She allowed herself a satisfied smile before turning around.

"Yes?" She said with an infuriatingly passive look. Hawkeye was still frowning, obviously embarrassed about what he had to do.

"I need help." He said in a low voice, and Kyla got the impression that this was a difficult thing for him to say.

"Thank you for asking nicely." She said, letting her face change to a smile of pity as she returned to his side. He didn't seem to care for this either. He somewhat reluctantly put his left arm around her shoulders, leaning on her for support. She stumbled a little bit at the added weight but she held her footing, holding his arm with her left hand and putting the other somewhat awkwardly around his waist. Kyla tried to look calm about it, but couldn't help but notice that his black shirt, though it was hard to see, was stained with red. She looked up to him before moving and he gave a little nod of affirmation. One step at a time, they moved in the direction of her shed. A sharp intake of breath and muffled complaints accompanied each stride and Kyla tried to make this go as quickly as possible.

By the time they reached the door and Kyla kicked it open her entire right side was red with Hawkeye's blood. She didn't have a problem with blood, she had drawn plenty of it herself, but she found herself almost _worried_ about this guy. Something about him was just, _likable_…In a weird, grumpy, smarty-assy sort of way.

As they entered…well…_fell_ into the room Kyla tried to direct Hawkeye to the small mat bed in the corner. He just managed to collapse on it before he was out like a light. Kyla leaned against the metal-sheeted wall and heaved a sigh. She looked at the passed out man on her bed, at her blood-soaked clothing, and at the ceiling.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, telling herself to relax a little. All she had to do was get this guy back in working order and kick him out…She'd never have to see him again. The whole incident could be forgotten, disregarded as ancient history, a horrible mistake she would never make again.

That's exactly what she had thought as she lay broken and bleeding in the drug dealer's warehouse one year ago. _I'll never help anyone but myself ever again…_

She looked back at the man she knew only as Hawkeye.

"Que diabos eu fiz para mim mesmo?" (_"What the hell have I done to myself?"_) She groaned, holding her head in her hands and wondering where she was going to get a new set of clothes.


	3. Chapter 3

A A A A A A A

Clint just wanted to crawl in a hole and die quietly for a couple minutes. He was just _sick_ of being everyone freaking punching bag. Sure, it had just been one fight…but seriously. Not content with beating the bloody snot out of him, the damn thugs had thrown him off a two story building. Oh well, if they _hadn't_ he would probably be dead…or worse. Barton was military _and_ SHIELD trained, but he had heard some pretty nasty torture stories around the special-ops campfire. He had never been pushed to his limit, but he had come pretty close…like right now for instance. He took a quick physical assessment…

_Okay, a fractured leg, dislocated shoulder, black eye, knife wound on left side, possible broken ribs…_ He took a deep breath and nearly threw up. _Defiantly broken ribs…Also cold…great. Blood loss_.

Barton tried to figure out which way was up as he opened his eyes. He figured that it was probably the opposite of down and pushed himself up on his elbows, feeling the slight scratch of a woven mat beneath him. He waited for the world to stop spinning and his vision to clear.

For a tiny shack in the slum, this wasn't a bad place. Sure, the ceiling had some pretty obvious rusted-through holes and the floor was nothing but hard packed dirt, but it was well taken care of. A small amount of furniture filled the one-room shed, including a small table and chair and the mat that he lay on. The room was lit by two small windows, one just over the bed and another on the other side of the room where a small fire pit with a metal pipe for a chimney cast the room in an orange glow. A shadow passed over Clint's eyes and, squinting, he saw the girl kneeling by the fire. He tried to remember her name and added "_hit on the head"_ to his list on injuries. At least that explained the headache and slight memory loss he had been struggling with.

_Kyla_…That was her name, _Kyla_.

Clint mumbled something incoherent and Kyla looked over her shoulder at him.

"Oh, good. You're up."

Barton _wanted_ to point out that this was a touch optimistic an assessment of things as he was barely holding on to consciousness as it was, but he didn't have the willpower or strength to argue. His head flopped painfully back on the mat as she approached, a plastic water bottle in one hand and a few strips of cloth in the other.

"Here." She said roughly, holding out the water. His hand missed a few times, but eventually got a hold of the bottle. As he fumbled trying to get it to his mouth he felt pressure on his shoulder as Kyla wrapped a strip of cloth around his upper arm where he vaguely remembered being grazed with a bullet at some point.

He wasn't aware of how thirsty he was until he started drinking and the bottle was empty in seconds. He thought he caught a disapproving glance from Kyla as she took it away and threw it onto the table. She didn't say anything as she tied off the bandage on his arm. She stood up and walked back to the fire. She didn't say anything, so neither did Clint.

He must have fallen asleep again because the next time he opened his eyes the windows were dark and the only light came from the fire. His headache had improved some, but he still didn't bother trying to get up. He let his head roll to the side, allowing him to see all around the room. He was alone. He blinked, wondering if his eyes were just giving him trouble, but Kyla was really not there. He swallowed, feeling the dryness in his mouth, and tried to call her name. No answer. He looked back at the ceiling. Through a small crack he could make out the night sky. It was pitch black and he judged the time at around midnight. Maybe she just went for a walk. Okay, that was a stupid idea… No girl in her right mind would go walking around here at night. Then again…Kyla wasn't _just some girl_…

The sounds of the city drifted in through the unscreened window and voices of large groups of loud (or drunk) men faded in and out as they wandered the streets. Twice they came close to the shed, but never seemed interested enough to look in the windows. Clint wondered how anyone could live here and remain a good person. He caught himself. No, Kyla wasn't a _normal_ person. She had the definite feel of a trained criminal. Then again, was he any different? He killed people for money.

A loud chorus of voices and wolf-whistles outside interrupted his thoughts and he heard footsteps approaching outside. They stopped at the door and he recognized Kyla's voice as she yelled something in Portuguese at whoever was whistling at her. There was a pause and hushed voices which then faded off into the night. Kyla opened the door and entered.

Over her shoulder was a backpack, and in her hands were Barton's bow and arrows.

"Here. I had to _reclaim_ your…whatever this is…" She put them down on the table and Clint had to grin.

"Thank you." He said. She began to unpack her bag and gave him a quick half-smile.

"No problem, I just had to fight off the entire street gang. They were trying to use it I think. It was quite amusing."

At this Clint showed obvious discomfort, imagining all of those grubby and untrained people handling his bow.

"Don't worry…" Kyla muttered, pulling two bottles of water and a small box out of the bag. "I made sure they didn't break anything." She gave what looked like a sly grin and Barton relaxed a little, knowing that his preferred weapon was within reach. As he watched in silence, Kyla pulled a small metal pot out of a box in the corner and poured in most of one of the bottles of water, a bag of rice, and the contents of the small box she had brought in…beans. Without a word she poked the fire in the pit back into life with a stick and wedged the pot between two logs. She stirred it with a rusted metal spoon and sat back, eyes on the flames. She must have known that Clint was watching her, but give no indication that she noticed or cared.

Barton could only speak for himself, but if he had just saved someone's life and had nearly died trying to do so, he'd want to know a little more about them.

"I'm not the bad guy." He said, apparently out of the blue. Kyla didn't turn to face him, but he could tell she was listening. "Those guys that were after me, I know all you have to go on is my word, but really. Those were the bad guys."

"So that makes you?..." Kyla said, turning around and watching him with a pair of startlingly green eyes.

"Not quite the good guy, but as close as I can get."

Kyla nodded to herself, then stood up and sat beside Clint's mat on the floor.

"Too bad I'm a 'bad guy' then."

Clint searched her face. Sadness. She was an immensely sad person who had found a way to hide it, and _use_ it. She was smart, and he liked that.

"_Good_ and _bad_ can just be labels…" He said slowly, trying to find the right words. Pep-talks weren't his forte.

"…Or someone's nature." She added, her face drawn in a frown.

"Yeah." Clint said. "And you have a good nature."

She looked at him with an incredulous stare.

"You don't know me very well."

"You saved my life."

"You would have croaked on my lawn!" She said, her voice raising a couple octaves.

The two stared at each other for what felt like a long time. Clint was determined to win this argument. He couldn't stand seeing someone making his mistakes. Kyla also seemed determined to prove that she _wasn't_ a good person, deep down. A misled goal, for sure, but one Barton could understand.

"Trust me…" Clint muttered after several beats. "A dead guy on your lawn would have been the least of your worries…"

This gave Kyla pause. "What do you mean?"

Oh good, she had taken the bait. "I work for an organization. They hire people with extraordinary abilities and together we…"

"Yes?" Kyla said when he paused, mostly for dramatic effect.

"…we save the world." He let this sink in for a couple seconds.

"Why are you telling me this, Hawkeye?" She asked, reminding Clint that she didn't know his real name.

"Because I think you have a secret, Kyla. And I think we could use you."

"We?"

"We're called the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division…SHIELD."

Barton had expected pretty much anything. She could have been surprised, scared, intrigued, disbelieving, but the one thing he hadn't counted on was anger.

"Get the hell out of my house!" She yelled at him, standing up and pointing to the door. "SHILED is the reason I live in this piece of garbage of a home. You ruined my life! I had a job, I had money, and I had a _future_!"

Clint propped himself up on his shoulders and shook his head in confusion.

"What are you talking about? SHIELD never…oh…" He drifted off, suddenly remembering something he had been told, well over a year ago… "You're…You're Kyla Amano."

"I told you to get out." She hissed venomously. Was it just him, or did her eyes seem to glow when she was angry?

"You met Phil Coulson, didn't you?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't answer.

"Oh Jesus, Kid, we thought you got away. What happened?"

"That's a change. Suddenly your _organization_, as you put it, wants to help me." She said coldly.

"No…" Clint said, fighting the exhaustion that this conversation was causing him. "_I _want to help you. Just tell me what happened. This is all a misunderstanding, believe me."

Kyla looked at him with something akin to a fisherman deciding whether or not to release the talking bass. Slowly, hesitantly, she resumed her seat on the floor. She fixed Clint with an unfaltering glare and waited.

"Right…" He began, wondering where the best place to start was. "So, SHIELD sometimes sends agents out on missions to make contact with possible recruits. Usually they're age 18 or older, but with you living alone we figured that it didn't really matter how old you were, at least at the time. Coulson was sent out to meet you. We had intel that you'd be in the backstreets, and that you have an…_ability_…that might apply well to surveillance and covert operations. We were…" He shook his head, wondering why they had just wiped this under the rug. "…we were trying to _recruit_ you Kyla, for something called the Avengers Initiative. It's a group of people with special abilities that protect the world, just like I said. We thought you had knocked out Coulson and chucked him out a window…but personally I don't think that's the case. What really happened?"

The look Kyla shot him could have burned through a bank vault, and for a second Clint was sure she was going to suffocate him with a pillow.

"I saved him. I knocked him out, felt bad, and tried to take him out the window." She said, matter-of-factly. "A man named Rahul Texanto and his gang of over-intense drug dealers nearly caught us, but I dropped Coulson into a dumpster and they seemed to be happy with just me as prisoner."

Barton nodded in silent understanding. There was one thing that was still bugging him…

"Coulson told us about the incident. He didn't remember much after you hit him, but he said something about you climbing a wall."

"Lots of people can climb walls."

"…with your bare hands…"

"I don't like gloves."

"…like a spider."

"Yeah, I do that."

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Clint wanted to twiddle his thumbs but found that doing so hurt more than the mute tension between them.

"Do you have a…_gift_?" Kyla asked him suddenly. Barton shook him head.

"No…just a high skillset."

"Does that _skillset_ have something to do with the bow?"

"Ish…"

Kyla smiled, making Clint more nervous than her glare had.

"I'm in."

"What?"

"I said I'm in. I want to be a part of this."

Clint opened his mouth to speak, but honestly had nothing to say to that. Was this kid bipolar or something?

"Well, you were going to recruit me anyway right? So what's the problem?" She looked at him with anxious eyes and Clint could tell that she wouldn't take no for an answer. It wasn't really his call, but what the hell; she seemed to know what she was doing.

"No problem at all." He winced as he offered his hand. "Welcome aboard agent Amano." She shook his hand, smiling apologetically as he gasped in pain moving his dislocated arm.

"Thank you Hawkeye. Oh, and seeing as we're co-workers now, can you tell me your real name?"

Clint hesitated before answering, "Clint. Clint Barton."

"Nice to meet you Clint Barton."


	4. Chapter 4

**My updates might be a little light in upcoming days…Final exams are this week…UGH. Thanks to those of you who commented. **_**278 readers**_**! YAY! I'll try to keep this moving now that I actually have ****readers****! Oh, and I noticed that some of you commented that Kyla should know who the Avengers are because of what happened in New York…and in typical Comic Book fashion I have created a poor excuse for that…I hope you guys can get past the inconsistencies!**

**Oh, and Indyhead…Thanks for your advice on what to do about Coulson. For all we know, that could actually be what happened! That will DEFINATLY come up in later chapters! Again, thanks to everyone for reading and commenting and please continue to do so! THX!**

-E.H.

A day came and went, and while Kyla and Clint rarely spoke there was no longer a suspicious distrust between them. In fact, if he hadn't known better, Clint would have thought that she had forgotten he was there. She went about what appeared to be her daily chores and would leave the shack for hours at a time. He never asked, but she always came back with a small handful of food and water. He had little doubt that she was stealing it, but she shared it with him as well as herself, so he wasn't in a position to complain.

Barton was still exhausted from the previous day and slept for most of the time, though he occasionally awoke to find Kyla poking at him; presumably to make sure he was still alive. He was a very light sleeper, so it didn't take much to have him up and reaching for his bow. Oddly enough, this didn't seem to alarm her much. She trusted him. Whether this trust was misguided or not, Barton would rather not think about.

It was about five o'clock in the evening when Kyla returned from another outing, this time a can of soup in her hand and a soda in the other. She tossed the drink to Clint who caught it, wincing as he moved his sore muscles. It was some off-brand of Cola, but hell, it was soda. He popped the seal and took a long swig, watching as Kyla cut into the can of soup with her knife, expertly shearing the top and pouring the contents into a pot.

"Hey, you're pretty handy with that knife." He commented, happy to find that his voice didn't sound so hoarse anymore.

"Thanks." She said tersely, snapping the knife closed and tossing it onto the table. "I used to get a lot of practice."

Clint frowned, wondering what she meant by that. He decided to avoid the topic all together.

"You remind me of a friend of mine." He said, smiling. "You two are practically twins…" He added under his breath.

"Are they in the Avengers too?" Kyla asked, curious about who else had been hand chosen to defend the Earth.

"Ugh, you won't believe me until you see them." Clint said honestly. Kyla gave him a skeptical look.

"I can climb up walls, okay? I'll believe pretty much anything."

Clint had to accept that. Something had been bothering him, however.

"Are you sure you've never heard of us? We were all over the news a couple weeks back. Alien invasion? New York City? I find it hard to believe you've never heard of us…"

"Look around..." Kyla said with a pained expression. "Does it look like I've got cable?"

"True… We'll have to show you the footage when we get back to the Helicarrier."

"The what?"

Clint shook his head. "You'll find out soon enough." He settled back onto the mat and rolled his shoulders. Where was he supposed to go from here? He was alive (albeit not 100%); he had a recruit he trusted, and absolutely no way of getting out of this hellhole with a busted leg. He hoped the team was coming to get him, but _when_ that would happen was a bit of a grey area. Most of the team was busy at the moment, and he wasn't likely to take precedence over the safety of the free world.

"When do you think you'll be able to walk?" Asked Kyla, more out of curiosity than concern. Clint frowned and wiggled his toes. He tried bending his right knee, no issue there, then his left. He felt a sharp stab of pain all the way from his ankle to his hip. He sucked in a lungful of air to avoid a nasty round of swears and shook his head.

"Not for a while…" He said honestly. "Left leg's pretty screwed up."

Kyla nodded thoughtfully and stirred the soup she had begun cooking over the fire.

"If you're in a hurry to get out of here I can always make you a full-leg splint. That's what they do in the army." She said, shrugging.

"I know. I was _in_ the army, kid."

Kyla didn't like being called "kid", but coming from Clint it was an almost tolerable nickname.

"Let me guess…sniper?" She said. Barton's brow furrowed.

"What gave me away?"

"You act like a sniper. Just saying, you're not a tough crowd to pick out."

Clint had to agree with that. He knew full well that he had a sniper's demeanor. He was quiet (most of the time), solitary, argumentative, and would much rather be in control, using wits and working _above_ the fight than actually getting physically involved.

"So what are you?" He asked, again changing the subject. He didn't want to talk about war.

"Don't know…A spy, maybe? I do a lot of stuff."

"Ugh, I hate spies…" Clint muttered with a half-smile. "They're too hard to hit." He made a gun with his fingers and pretended to shoot something in the distance. This made Kyla smile a little.

"I'm a fair shot myself, but not really with a gun…"

Clint was intrigued. Another unconventional sniper? She didn't have the arms or hands of an archer and he wondered what her weapon of choice was. Looking slightly embarrassed, Kyla pulled something small and thin out of her sweatshirt pocket.

"Blow dart?" He asked, surprised. "Can't do that much damage…" He muttered with a disbelieving smirk. This had obviously been the wrong thing to say, and seconds after he had let the comment fly a small dart was sticking out of the neck of a sparrow that had been perched on a dumpster outside the window. It gave a feeble squawk and fell to the ground with a wet thud. There was a moment of silence and Clint gave his head a quick shake.

"Sorry…" He said, trying to decide whether to laugh or be very, _very_ alarmed.

"Don't be. I get that a lot."

Barton found this hard to believe, but he didn't voice his opinion this time.

"You know once I'm back on my feet you and I should go to the shooting range some time. There's a nice one on the helicarrier…moving targets and everything."

Kyla shrugged noncommittally and stepped outside without a word for another hour. When she came back she looked a little winded and was carrying two long pieces of wood, each one about three feet long, a few pieces of rope and a roll of duct tape. She held them up for Clint to see.

"Look. Instant splint kit." She said with a light smile, which Clint didn't return.

"We going somewhere?" He asked, somewhat dreading her answer.

"Yeah, well, a friend of mine said the _polícia_ are coming to reclaim this shed, so we should get out of here."

"Are kidding me? What do they want with it?"

Kyla shrugged, already throwing things into her backpack as she spoke.

"For the life of me, I've got no idea. It's not exactly prime real estate…maybe my shoplifting habit drew too much attention. Or…" She paused momentarily before shaking her head and resuming packing. Clint sat up on the mat and stretched.

"Or what?" He asked.

"Or…" She said, not looking at him. "Something about _you_ drew their attention."

Now there was a thought. What if Clint's actions over the last week had gotten him in trouble with the law? He tried to recall if any cops had been watching him while he was on his mission, but he couldn't remember seeing any. If it _was_ his fault, he at least owed her an apology.

"I don't think the police are after me…" He said, starting to flex his right leg but keeping his left immobile. "But if they are, they'll probably shoot first, ask questions later. I'm sorry."

Kyla glanced at him, but he didn't catch anything but cold understanding in her eyes. At least it wasn't anger or sadness.

"That's fine; just start wrapping up that leg." She said, tossing him the splint supplies she had brought in. "We need to get out of here."

"_Out of here_?" Clint said with a frown. She smiled at him and his frown deepened.

"Out of Brazil. I've been done with this place since I got here."

A A A A A A


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry everybody, super short chapter, but it's my first week of summer break and everyone wants me doing something! GAH! So busy! Alrighty, here we are… Chapter 5**

** -E.H.**

A A A A A

"Out of the question!" Nick Fury roared at the holographic displays in front of him. They showed the blurred faces of his superiors…the only people on the planet that outranked him. That in itself was a reason to hate them, but that was _nothing_ compared to what they had just ordered him to do.

"Director Fury…" Said a man on a screen to his right. "We require your team's services here in DC immediately. If your team is one short, that will just have to do."

"And by 'one short' you mean MIA." Fury growled, throwing the man a dirty look. He raised his holographic eyebrows at him.

"Public image, Director. Public image. If your team stays as secretive as it has been the public will never accept them in a time of crisis. The world leaders are already talking about forcibly disbanding the Avengers. We're on your side for the time being Fury, but that could change unless we see results."

"Agreed." Said a woman on the leftmost screen. Fury was almost beside himself with frustration and rage, though he tried not to show it.

"Listen, if I kept the team together for any length of time they would _tear each other apart_. You know what happens when you lock up a bunch of male lions? They _eat_ each other. At least keeping them apart keeps them sane. They _will_ come together when we need them sir, I assure you." Fury said, doing a fair job of keeping his cool.

"I wish I was comforted, Director." Another holographic display muttered, loud enough for him to hear but not so much that it went on the record. Fury's frown deepened and his one good eye narrowed.

"I'm not leaving my man in the field to go have a feel-good press conference with Fox and CNN. I _will_ head over myself, but my team is currently preoccupied."

"Preoccupied? With what?" The man on the right asked, rather, _demanded_. Fury smiled, throwing them all off.

"One is out retrieving our lost man, one is overthrowing a dictatorship, two are in training, and…" He looked over his shoulder at something the people on screen couldn't see. He sniffed the air and turned back to them. "…And one of them is baking something. I'm sorry, but right now if you want a press conference, the best you can hope for is me and Dr. Banner."

"That…won't be necessary…" The woman said quickly, much to Fury's satisfaction.

"Alright then. I'll be in touch."

Before any of them could protest Fury had shut off the communication channel. The screens disappeared and Fury slumped into a chair, rubbing his temples. He groaned. He hated his job. Well, that wasn't completely true…He liked the job, he hated his bosses. They were so…_naïve_… Did they actually know what happened every day on the Helicarrier? No. Of course not.

Fury stood up from the chair and walked to the door that led to the flight deck. He needed a vacation…soon.

As usual Hill was waiting for him outside. He wondered if she stood there waiting for him to come into the bridge all day or if it was just coincidence that she was _always_ standing at the door…usually with bad news.

Nick Fury saw the clipboard Hill was carrying, saw her expression, and flinched. _Defiantly_ bad news.

"What is it Hill?"

His second in command nervously brushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear. This wasn't going to be good…

"It's one of our agents, sir… They've…"

"Yes?"

"They've dropped off the face of the Earth sir."

Fury let his eyes wander to the ceiling before he asked the million dollar question.

"Who?"

"Stark."

"Damn."

"Last we heard of him he said he was going _south for the winter_."

"Great."

"He also mentioned _visiting a Hawk._"

"Fantastic… He's going lone ranger again. Remind me to give him a leash when he comes back."


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'm sorry, another insanely short chapter….Sorry, sorry, sorry… Okay, I'mdone apologizing…I'm working on a longer chapter right now, but I've also got characterization issues at the moment…so bear with me, k? Enjoy!**_

Tony Stark flew over the Atlantic seaboard of Brazil, lazily watching the sunburned forms of hundreds of tourists as they milled around the beaches and towns below. A few of them noticed the red glint of metal above them and, as Stark could see zooming in his helmet screens, saying the name of his alter-ego.

_Iron Man_…Couldn't have said it better himself. What was he thinking? Of course he could! He _was_ Iron Man!

Looking back at the cloudy sky before him, Tony called up his onboard computer.

"Hey Jarvis, how long till we get to Hawk's beeper?"

The British-accented voice that answered was clear and precise, but somehow more human than most computerized voices.

_Scanning now sir, though I might advise that you proceed with caution. SHIELD never gave you permission to go on this rescue mission or to hack into their tracking systems._

"Yeah, well, they were taking too long and it's _my_ tech…and I was bored."

Tony banked his suit a few degrees to the right and started a slow descent, letting the updrafts of the heat-rippled city below keep him in the air.

_Sir, I regret to inform you that Agent Barton's signal was lost some hours ago._ Jarvis reported. Tony gave a frustrated huff and began to arc in a circle around the downtown area.

"Any idea why the signal went dead? It can't have been the battery."

_Indeed sir. It appears that it was manually disconnected._

"Broken."

_It appears so sir._

"Oh, there's gonna be hell to pay. Does he know how expensive those things are?" Stark muttered in annoyance.

_Yes sir…Seeing how short of funds Stark Industries is sir._ Jarvis added with a hint of sarcasm.

Tony had to smile at that one. He loved how good he was at developing AIs. It was almost like talking to a real person.

"Alright, guess we're gonna have to do this the old fashioned way…" He said, smiling as he landed at the center of a busy town square.

_Sir?_ Jarvis asked.

"We're going _incognito_."

Jarvis's AI brain registered the approaching hoards of men, women, and children that recognized the red and gold suit, waving pens and papers and calling Stark's name.

_Indeed sir. This should prove interesting._


	7. Chapter 7

"I need a break…"

"We've only been walking for two minutes Barton…"

"You call this walking?"

Kyla and Clint Barton had been moving at a brisk pace through the complicated backstreets of the slums for about ten minutes now, and although she didn't show it, Kyla was worried. She had never had a problem with police before…in fact, she was beginning to doubt their existence in the slums. Was it really Clint Barton that had attracted their attention? If so, what the Hell was she doing saving his life?

A way out. He was her way out.

Kyla was trying hard to really think this through, but everything was happening _so dang fast_… Should she believe Clint Barton and go with him to SHIELD? Should she make a run for it and leave him for dead? Should she go with him, then make a run for it once she was out of Brazil? Did she actually have any choice in the matter?

Somewhat belatedly, Kyla realized that Clint was no longer ambling along beside her. She looked back over her shoulder into a shadowy ally, but he wasn't behind her.

Like it always did when she was on edge, Kyla's heart rate bumped up a few beats. It was too quiet.

"Clint?" She asked, quietly enough to be unheard by someone in another alleyway. No voice answered her, but in her peripheral vision she picked up movement to her right. She had her blowgun out and at the ready in seconds and held it lightly between her index and middle fingers, the foot-long wooden tube having been pre-loaded and at the ready under her black sweatshirt. In the narrow space between two brick buildings stood two men. One of them was Clint, the other was a scruffily dressed black man in his twenties. He had Barton restrained in front of him and a knife to his throat.

"Dê-me seu saco!" He yelled. ("_Give me your bag!"_) " Dá-me o saco e deixei-o ir!" _("Give me the bag and I'll let him go!"_)

_Well this is a little lopsided…_ Though Kyla, lowering her blowgun. _Isn't he supposed to hold up the girl?_

She figured he had grabbed Clint because of the broken leg, but it didn't really matter at the moment. Barton looked more surprised than anything, his leg still held straight by the brace she had helped him apply to his broken leg. He was grabbing the man's arm that he had around his throat, but was too out of it to stand straight, let alone win a wrestling match.

"Ok, eu vou dar-lhe o saco ..." (_"Okay, I'll give you the bag…"_) She said, slowly lifting the strap of her backpack off of her shoulder and slipping her dart gun into her sleeve. She kept eye contact with the man so he didn't look at her hands as she did so, but Clint was catching on. "Só não machucá-lo." (_"Just don't hurt him."_) Kyla added, trying to sound afraid. She wasn't.

She dropped her bag slowly to the ground with a dull "thud" and raised her hands non-threateningly. The man hesitated, looking between her and the bag at her feet. She could practically hear the gears turning as he put it all together and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why couldn't they be mugged by an _experienced_ criminal? This was almost too easy.

"Leve o saco para mim." (_"Bring the bag to me."_) He commanded, tightening his grip on Clint.

"Dude, I've got a knife wound in the side, let up will you?" Hissed Barton through clenched teeth. The man looked at him in confusion.

"He doesn't speak English, smart one." Kyla muttered, picking up her bag and taking slow steps in their direction. Clint threw her a _hurry this the Hell up_ look and she tried not to return the snide look with a snide comment. She hoped fervently that Clint had some wiggle room in the man's grip.

"When I say so, duck." She said in a calm, measured voice…in English, never looking away from the man holding the knife.

"O que você disse? O que você está dizendo?" (_"What did you say? What are you saying?"_) He yelled, fear lurking behind his eyes. Great, a _panicked_ mugger.

"Nada, eu só estava traduzindo para o meu amigo americano ... " (_"Nothing, I was just translating for my American friend…"_) Kyla replied calmly. She had reached the man and was about an arm's length away. She slowly held out her hand with the backpack and he eyed it suspiciously before reaching out a hand to snatch it away, consequently loosening his grip on Clint.

"Duck." Kyla said with a polite smile to the man. He scarcely had time to frown in confusion before Barton had swatted away his knife arm and dropped to the ground. Kyla pulled out her blowgun and shot a dart into the side of his neck. He scratched wildly at the dart for several seconds, gave a horrible rattling cough, and fell to the ground unconscious.

There was a moment of stunned silence on Clint's part before he gave a groan, rubbing his injured shoulder. Kyla walked around the unconscious mugger and offered her hand.

"Well that was an adventure…" Barton muttered as she helped him to his feet. Kyla shrugged and together they took a moment to look at the man, Kyla in mild interest, Clint in shock.

"So, you're pretty handy with that thing after all, huh?" He said, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, well, lots of practice I suppose." She murmured offhandedly. She started to walk away in the direction they had originally been heading in, but Clint didn't move.

"Wait." He said. Kyla stopped, not turning around. Clint walked toward her, dragging his splinted leg behind him in a sort of zombie-shuffle. Kyla recognized his tone. He wanted answers, and she wasn't in the mood for talking about her past. She had a soft spot for this guy and was afraid that if she let him _ask_, she would _tell_.

"Don't bother." She snapped before he could say a word. She spun around and fixed him with a flat glare. "Don't bother." She repeated. Clint looked confused.

"I didn't say…" He began, but she cut him off.

"No. You want to know about me. You want to know about my past. Hell, you might want my freaking biography. I don't ask about your past, you don't ask about mine. See how this works?"

Barton's look made it clear that he did "see".

"Okay, fair enough." He said, starting to amble down the alley.

Kyla was surprised at how easily he had accepted her secrecy. It only added to her suspicion that he had something to hide himself. How else could he understand someone's desire to be mysterious? She started to walk after him down the alley, easily catching up with him. They walked in silence for several seconds and she wondered if she had come across as angry. To lighten the mood, she was the first to speak.

"I thought you wanted a break." She said in what she hoped was a teasing manner. Sociability wasn't really her strong suit. Clint looked at her and smiled.

"What, you getting sleepy?"

"I will walk you into the ground, Agent Barton." Kyla said, picking up the pace a little, failing to hide her grin. She heard the scraping of Clint's sprit quicken as he sped up to match her stride. For the first time Kyla heard him laugh; a real laugh, not the hollow, humorless one he usually gave.

"I take that as a personal challenge, Kyla Amano." He said, his voice covering his discomfort at their quickened gait.

Together they made their way down the winding alleyways and backstreets of the slums. Overhead, just out of view beyond a stand of tall palm trees, a glint of red metal shot through the smoggy and heat-rippled air.


	8. Chapter 8

Howdy everybody! Just want to let you know…for the sake of realism I have bumped up the age of Kyla to 20. I thought it would be more realistic that a nineteen-year-old would be recruited by SHIELD and would have better relations with the team later on. I made this change in the first chapter, but just in case you didn't catch it, now you know! Thanks to everyone who's commented and are adding this to their favorites list. Keep reviewing!

-E.H.

"_Sir, if I may suggest…_"

"Shut it Jarvis."

Tony Stark didn't usually wear clothes that concealed his identity. Why would he? He had nothing to hide. He typically preferred name brands, cheap sweats at formal dinners, or the occasional AC/DC t-shirt. Now though, for the sake of stealth, he was wearing a hoodie and torn jeans which he had bought off of a very nice street vender who smelled like sweat. Even though it was well over 90 degrees outside he still had the hood up and kept mostly to the shadows. He had a large backpack on (also bought from a street vender) and inside it was his travel-sized suit. Obviously wearing it would be conspicuous, but he really wished some crime would come along so he had an excuse to put on the air conditioned armor. _Damn_ it was hot…

Jarvis was undoubtedly going to suggest where he should first look for Clint Barton, but hey, this was like an Easter egg hunt and he didn't want the AI spoiling all of the fun.

"Barton, Barton, Barton…" Stark muttered to himself, scanning the abandoned street he was currently strolling through. Only three other people were in sight, a young kid watching him through a window and two men listening to a beaten-up radio on a stoop. He had long since left the nicer part of the city…that was for sure. Now he was in what could accurately be described as _the slums_. He wondered if Stark Industries was doing any work here…he never really paid attention in those charity meetings; didn't he do enough for charity as Iron Man? Then again…this place gave his equal parts guilt and the willies. He was sorry for the conditions these people had to live in, but also more than a little concerned about the threat of being mugged.

_If I were Clint Barton…_ He thought, looking at the rooftops. He ended that chain of thought almost immediately. He didn't _want_ to think like Clint Barton. They didn't know each other very well, but they didn't seem to get along. Clint apparently thought Tony was obnoxious and a show-off and Tony thought that Clint was a show off and a bad conversationalist.

Clint had been in SHIELD far longer than Stark, but in the short time they had known each other it had become clear to Tony that Barton didn't follow orders terribly well. This made the fact that he had not reported in for several days cause little alarm for Fury or Hill, but for Tony it was a touch out of the ordinary. Clint didn't follow orders, but at least he knew to tell someone before he did. Stark had nothing to do, so why not check it out? Just to be safe…

Tony continued down the street, trying to avoid eye contact with the two radio listeners and turned into an alley. He doubted he would see Barton casually strolling down a main road, bow in hand. More likely he was ninja-creeping his way down a dark alley somewhere. Stark just walked, not really paying attention to where he was…that is, until he realized that he was hopelessly lost. He had lost track of time while doing mental calculations of his suit's new thruster system and was surprised to find that it was nearly dark when he came back to his senses. Great. It was dark and he was lost.

The alley he was in looked _exactly_ like every other alley he had come through…dirty, dark, smelly… He sighed and leaned against a wall, going through his options. He could keep walking until something happened, he could find somewhere to spend the night, or he could… His eyes drifted over the ground and he took a double-take. About five feet away a red stain streaked cross the alley to the opposite wall. Blood.

"_Ew_…" Tony said to himself, scooting a little further down the wall, away from the dried bloodstain. He didn't want to know what, or_ who_, had died there. He shook his head and tried to think of his third option, but was once again distracted. There, not two feet to his right, was an arrow.

"I'll be damned…" He muttered, kneeing down and picking it up. He examined it, recognizing it immediately as Clint's. It was slightly bent in the middle and the tip was dented and dull, like something had crushed it. Tony frowned and looked around again. His eyes once again fell on the dried blood. "Crud." He said under his breath, now wondering whether it was Clint's blood or someone the archer had shot. The arrow didn't have blood on it.

Stark looked up at the building opposite him where the blood-trail led to. It was a two-story building made of brick, and at the lip of the flat rooftop was another bloodstain. Tony swore and ran to a fire escape a little further down the alleyway. As he pulled down the retractable ladder and started to climb he wondered who had fallen, or had been_ pushed_, from the rooftop. Reaching the top he immediately headed to the place the bloodstain was on the edge. It didn't take a genius to see that a fight had occurred there. Splatters of blood, spent arrows, dented air vents, and conspicuous-looking bullet holes covered the roof, only adding to Tony's well concealed sense of dread. _Where was Clint?_

Deciding to be as logical about this as possible, Stark examined the lip of the wall, squinting his eyes in the dark as he searched to rough brick surface. A tuft of black and maroon fabric was stuck on the edge where Barton had been pushed. Stark stood up and groaned. So either Clint was dead and they had taken the body, or he had dragged himself to safety and was alive, but hiding. He looked out over the dim lights of the city as the sun continued to set, casting the slums in a depressing shadow.

"Jarvis?" Tony said quietly.

"_Yes sir_?" Answered the AI.

"I'm done fooling around here. Is that new heart-beat sensor working yet?"

"_It is still in early development sir, but it is fully operational up to three square miles at present._"

"Good. Scan for all human beings with heartbeats that suggest physical injury."

"_Doing it now, sir._"


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hey people! Just so you all know, I'm going off to a week-long summer camp in a couple days, so it might be a while before my next post. I'll try to sneak one in before I leave, but that's not for sure. Thanks again to everyone who's reading, favorite-ing, and reviewing. You guys are my bestest buddies! **_

_**Disclaimer: The Avengers aren't mine. That's not to say I don't wish they were…**_

"Hey Kyla…You know how you said you would walk me into the ground?" Asked an exhausted Clint Barton. Kyla, walking beside him, threw him a look.

"Yeah."

"You win." Barton groaned, crumpling to the ground beside a dumpster. Kyla frowned at him. They had been walking in silence for several hours now and the sun had sunk low in the sky. It would be night soon and she didn't want to crash until they were in a safer and better hidden location. Kyla hadn't really paid much attention to Clint while they had been moving, but now that they had stopped she saw that he was a lot paler than was probably healthy. Blood was visible seeping through the bandage on his upper arm and his leg looked swollen through the pant leg.

Kyla didn't want him to overdo it more than he already had, but if they didn't move they were about as exposed as they could get. They were only about twenty feet off a main road. Kyla nudged him with her foot and her huffed at her.

"What?" He muttered, his eyes already closed.

"We can't stop here. We're too exposed." Kyla said, looking anxiously into the street. "_Up_!" She added when he didn't respond. He still didn't answer. She glared at him and kicked him with a little more vigor. Clint was silent and unmoving. Now slightly concerned, Kyla kneeled in front of him and shook his shoulder, saying in a slightly kinder voice, "Clint? Hey, get up man. Clint?"

Something wasn't right here. Trying to stay calm Kyla put two fingers to the side of his throat, feeling for a pulse. There was one, but it was a little too slow for comfort. She put an ear to his chest. Barely breathing.

"_Merda_!" She swore quietly. She did the only thing any sane woman would do. She slapped him across the face. "Get up you _idiota_!" She yelled. Barton jerked awake suddenly, gasping and bleary-eyed.

"_What the hell_?" He yelled. Kyla sat back with an angry frown.

"Don't do that!" She said, as if that would explain why she had slapped him.

"What?"

"You were almost _dead_ for ten seconds!" She said, failing miserably to hide her alarm. Clint groaned and looked like he might pass out again. Kyla shook her head. "Nope, nope, none of that. Up you get…" She reached forward, grabbing him under the arms and attempting to pull him to his feet. He was dead weight however and they both fell back to the ground.

_Déjà vu…Where have I seen this before…? _Kyla thought to herself, thinking how one-sided this relationship had become. _He passes out, I carry him._

Kyla knew that they wouldn't be going anywhere until he recovered from whatever had come over him…blood loss, probably. That could be a while. She planted herself on the ground next to him, pulling both of their legs out of sight behind the dumpster. Anyone who happened to stumble into the alley would have seen them, but it would have to do for now.

Kyla snapped out her pocket knife with one hand and held her blowgun under her sweatshirt with the other. She could already hear regular breathing beside her. Clint was asleep…or unconscious, depending on how you looked at things. Kyla looked up at the starless sky, wondering what they were going to do. If the police were after them, an airport was out of the question. A boat might be possible…she knew some smugglers that owed her a favor, but honestly she had never been desperate enough to risk a trip on one of those ships. Either you got caught by the US Coast Guard smuggling illegal immigrants or you got captured by some other smugglers or pirates. Frankly, she'd rather starve.

Today had been about escape, tomorrow would be survival. Then they would get the hell out of here.

It was the middle of the night when Kyla was awakened by a loud crash. She must have dozed off while keeping watch. She looked up sharply, her eyes scanning the darkness. A man had fallen into the alley, a beer bottle broken in his hand. It must have hit the wall as he fell. He was unshaven and smelly. He looked up, saw Kyla and Clint, and gave a stupid grin.

"Ei quer-ida! Qual é se-u nom-e?" He slurred. („_Hey Sweetheart, what's your name?")_

"Get lost." Kyla hissed, pulling out her knife. The man picked himself up off the ground in record time, stumbling into the street with a few hurried "Okay, okay!" 's.

Kyla waited until he was gone before lowering the knife and heaving a sigh. She hated herself for falling asleep. What if that had been a mugger? Or a police officer? She and Clint could be dead! She blinked several times to wake herself up and looked over at Clint. He must have moved in his sleep because now his head was leaning against the dumpster and his splinted leg was stuck out at an odd angle. Kyla watched him for a minute, making sure he was breathing alright. She noticed that he was shaking. How could he be cold? It was still over 80 degrees out.

_Right_… She thought. _Blood loss_…_probably shock too._

As quietly as she could (knowing that Barton was a light sleeper) she took off her sweatshirt and gently draped it over him.

She then scooted as far away from him as she could. Why had she done that? Why? A little shiver wouldn't kill him. _She was being _kind_ again…_ She flicked herself in the arm.

_There you go again Kyla!_ She told herself. _Helping a total stranger just for the heck of it!_

She sighed and rubbed her eyes with her thumbs. If she was going to keep this up she'd have to regain some macho real quick. She couldn't let herself get soft…especially if she was actually going to go with this guy to the _Helicarrier_, or whatever it was called. She had to stay sharp.

She held her knife's blade between her fingers and practiced throwing it into a cardboard box across the alley.

After several minutes of this, the holes in the box spelled out the word "_Macho_".

Barton woke up and was for a moment unable to remember how he had gotten to where he was. Then he remembered the police, and Kyla making him walk with a broken leg. _Right_…

He let his eyes slowly open just enough to see his surroundings. Sweet _Lord_ he was cold. Wasn't this Brazil? He shivered and looked to his left. Kyla was beside him, sleeping like a baby, a knife just visible in her hand. Yeah, he _defiantly_ respected any girl that slept with a knife. He panicked for a second before remembering that she had been carrying his bow and quiver on her bag all day. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to fire it anyway, but having it close at hand was really helping with his healing process. It gave him something to look forward to once he could lift his arm again. He let out a long breath as he tried to stretch, aggravating the knife wound in his side. The mugger had been pressing hard on it earlier and it was probably bleeding again. He shivered. It was _defiantly_ bleeding again.

The next time Clint woke up Kyla was awake. She was talking to herself, something in Portuguese, and he made himself a mental reminder to get a language-learning program when he got back to the Helicarrier. She sounded angry, or at least upset. It was too dark for Clint to clearly see her face, but she had moved away from him and was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest.

If his mouth felt any less like sandpaper he would have said something, but as it was he could only watch her in silence. He realized that for the first time she wasn't wearing her black sweatshirt. He had thought she was nuts, wearing that thing all the time in this heat, but now he knew that it was for concealing her small armory of blow darts, a knife, and a gun (with no bullets, he noted). Barton also noticed somewhat belatedly that he was no longer shivering. He looked down at himself. Her sweatshirt was covering his torso and arms, keeping off the light breeze that had picked up and stopping his teeth from chattering.

Barton didn't really know how to react to this. He still hadn't figured her out. He knew she wasn't as tough as she appeared, no one could be. There was something about this 20-year-old girl that reminded him unavoidably of himself. He hadn't grown up on the right side of the poverty line either and it had made him a fighter, and frankly a little distrusting as well.

He hadn't decided what Kyla wanted from him; a way out probably, but what about _after_ that? Was she really going to follow him to SHIELD? Was she going to make a run for it? She was obviously capable of murder, would she kill him if he tried to stop her? Clint looked back at Kyla. She was throwing a knife into a cardboard box across the alley, spelling out a word he was too tired to read. Yeah, she could probably kill him. Hell, a bad cold would probably kill him in his current state, but she didn't always _act_ like a killer. Bringing him to her home, giving him food and water, saving him from the mugger, giving him her sweatshirt…obviously she was more than just a hired assassin minus the "hired". He should know, how had _he_ made his living before the Avengers?

Clint fell asleep again and this time didn't wake up until it was nearly dawn. At first he didn't know what had woken him. Then he heard the second gunshot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Alrighty, one last chapter before I leave for camp. I'M SORRY! :*( See? Look! I'm gonna miss you guys so much I'm crying…**

_**AAAAAANY**_**WHO…. Thanks for your comments. They make me all warm and fuzzy inside! ;P **

**Special thanks to mercuryfire, Annie, and Nelle07. Oh, and mercury's last comment is the only reason I posted this…so THANK HER! I didn't have a chance to read over this in between packing and cleaning my pit of a house…so yeah…any and all spelling and grammar mistakes are just that. **_**Mistakes**_**. Thank you for being tolerant of my god-awful spelin!**

** -E.H.**

"Jarvis, what the _hell_ was that?" Tony was running faster than he could ever remember running. It was almost morning and he had been up all night, following a faint heartbeat that he had hoped was Barton's. Only one thing wasn't adding up…

He had put on his visor as it laid out a holographic map of the city, each living thing shown as a small fluctuating dot. The dot he suspected to be Barton (it matched his probable physical state according to Jarvis) was accompanied by another dot. At first it didn't register as human, the heart rate was too fast, but soon it became apparent that it _was_ a person. It wasn't likely Clint had picked up a stray dog, anyways.

At about nine o'clock the two dots had stopped moving and Clint's heart rate dipped alarmingly low for several seconds before coming back up. A few minutes later both dropped to the point where they were obviously asleep and Stark had moved double-time to reach them before they started moving again.

When he was about a block away he had heard the gunshot. It was followed by a second but Tony was running too fast and too hard to bother checking what was happening with his visor. Someone was shooting and an injured Clint was close by, and knowing the archer's luck he was probably at the receiving end of the barrel.

Stark flew around a corner, trying to follow the sound of the third and fourth shots. He darted into an alley from the main road and was face to face with a fairly alarming scene.

Clint was there, on the ground and holding his side with a rather peeved expression on his face. Beside him was a young woman who looked to be about twenty, pinning a darkly dressed man against a wall, struggling with him for control of a handgun. It wasn't the fact that they were struggling that was odd, it was the fact that the woman was _stuck to the wall_, her feet and fingertips keeping her tethered in place, preventing the man from escaping.

Tony hand barley taken in the whole scene before Clint spotted him.

"Tony?" He gasped. Stark saw blood dripping through his fingers.

"Clint? What the…?"

"Don't look at me, look there!" Clint shouted, waving his hand at the man and woman fighting beside him. Stark shook himself enough to run in their direction, uselessly shouting for them to "Stop! Break it up!"

The woman was now holding back the man's gun-hand with one hand and was reaching into her pant pocket with the other, still stuck to the wall like a gecko by her bare feet, pinning the man in place against the brick wall. Stark hesitated to intervene. That gun could go off at any moment if she didn't continue to hold the guy back. As he watched, vaguely aware of Clint yelling for him to "do something", he saw the woman pull out a thin wooden tube from her pocket. She held one end to her mouth and pressed the other to the man's neck. There was a sound like someone blowing through a straw, and less than five seconds later the man went limp. The woman waited a beat before dropping lightly to the ground, letting him fall to the dirt with a dull _thud_. She was breathing heavily in an almost _animalistic_ fashion, her weapon held at her side. Tony looked from her to the man. He was dead, that much was obvious. His eyes stared blankly into the still darkened sky, lifeless as the grave.

"What the…?" Stark repeated. The young woman spun on her heals, weapon raised, and Tony shot up his hands in surrender.

"Kyla! He's good. He's a friend!" Shouted Clint from his place of the ground. Immediately the woman's manner changed. She lowered what Stark now recognized as a blowgun and frowned at him.

"Oh." She said. She then walked around Tony to Clint, kneeling in front of him and completely ignoring Tony. He didn't _like_ being ignored…

"Hey, Lady…" He said, stepping toward them, thoroughly confused. Her bright green eyes shot back around at him warningly. He froze. "Hey Clint, you wanna tell your guard dog here to back off?"

"Tony, meet Kyla. Kyla, this is…" Clint began, but Kyla finished for him.

"Tony Stark, right?" She said. Stark frowned at her, and so did Clint. "What? He's famous." She added. She turned back to Clint, scooting to the side to give Tony room to join her on the ground. He smiled to himself, despite the situation, and crouched down beside her.

"Hey bud. What'd you do to yourself this time?" He said, slapping Clint on the shoulder. Barton gave a sharp intake of breath as Tony hit his injured shoulder.

"_I_ didn't do _anything_, Tony…" He hissed through clenched teeth. Stark frowned, obviously noticing the severity of his injuries.

"Hey, you get shot?" He asked, nodding to Clint's stomach where he was still holding a bloody hand.

"_No_… I just spilled _ketchup_ all over myself." Barton said, glaring at him. Kyla snickered and he shot her a look.

"No need to get snippy. Hold still." Stark ordered. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small metal frame. He clicked a button on the top and a holographic screen appeared with the words "Hello Mr. Stark" in white type.

"Hey Jarvis, you with me?" Tony said into the device.

"_As always Sir._" Answered the AI, its voice now coming from the device in Stark's hand.

"Okay, I need you to do a scan of Agent Barton here. How does he look?"

There was a pause as a red laser-pointer type light turned on and shone over Clint who blinked at it in annoyance. Kyla eyed the device distrustfully, but she had heard of Tony Stark before. His company occasionally did charity work for the church she grew up in.

The device beeped and the light turned off. Jarvis's voice returned.

"_Scan complete Sir. It appears Agent Barton is suffering from a number of injuries, the most severe being a leg broken in three places, knife wound to the left side, a dislocated shoulder, head trauma, gunshot wound causing internal bleeding, two broken ribs, severe blood loss…"_

"Okay Jarvis, we get the idea." Stark interrupted. Kyla looked incredulously at Clint, who shrugged.

"_Frankly sir,"_ Jarvis added with a slight hesitation in his computerized voice "…_Agent Barton should be dead_."

Stark smiled at Clint. "We're lucky you're so damn stubborn." He chuckled. He stood up and swiped his finger across the holographic screen of the device. He pressed several buttons and held it to his ear.

"What are you doing?" Kyla asked, standing up and walking over to him. Tony smiled as he heard the familiar voice of Nick Fury over the phone.

"I'm calling mom." He grinned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, I lied. ONE more post before I leave! ;P**

**So basically, thank you EVERYONE! **

**Camiliawolff. I'm glad there's someone here who knows Portuguese to correct my horrid grammar…in **_**any**_** language! No, I've never been to Brazil, but I do my research before I write and I have friends who have been there. I'm so glad you like it! (Oh, and your English is fine! I have a German pen-pal whose spelling is WAY better than mine…just saying…)**

**Wolfdarkfur: I **_**was**_** gonna have a thing between Clint and Kyla…then there was the whole "she's-20-and-he's-41" thing…**_**hawk**_**ward… So yeah, that and the massive OC/Character hate-mail thing I don't want to have to deal with...so no. No lovey-dovey...although Clint and Natasha are DEFINATLY on my top ten movie-romances list.**

**Oh, and the next chapters contain Fury, Bruce, and basically the rest of the team. Here's what you have to look forward to in upcoming updates!**

**Clint Whump. Sorry Barton, but I just like writing about you getting hurt. *Shrug***

**The Plot **_**Thickens**_**! Okay, OCs are great and all, but there's got to be a bigger game at play, right? Like, who's the guy who shot Clint? What's happening at SHIELD?**

**Kyla being all around kick-assy and awesome.**

**Natasha being all around kick-assy and awesome.**

**Captain America being all around kick-assy and awesome.**

**Clint being all around…well…Kick-assy, yes, but also very sore. He fell off a building and got shot for goodness' sake!**

**The reveal of the **_**MAIN VILLIAN**_**! MUAHAHAHAHAHA! (Complete with evil-Joker-laugh, I promise! ;P)**

**Enjoy!**

** A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A **

Hill ran across the bridge to Fury with an alarm in her expression that he had begun to associate with news of Tony Stark.

"What'd he do this time?" He asked when his second in command reached him and gave a salute.

"He's…he's on line one sir."

Fury narrowed his eye and reached for a phone mounted on a wall beside him.

"Stark, you better have found Barton or your suit's head will be served to me on a silver platter."

"Okay mom…cool it…" Answered Stark's voice over the phone. Fury caught an uncharacteristic touch of urgency through Tony's usual air of sarcasm.

"What's the problem?" Fury groaned, expecting the very…_very_ worst.

"Should I answer chronologically or alphabetically?"

"_Pick_ one."

"Right…" Stark's voice drifted off for a moment and Fury could hear multiple voices muffled on the other end. Tony's voice came back clearly. "Okay, so Clint got beat up, fell off a roof and got shot…" He started. Fury huffed.

"Is that all?"

"No."

"Ah."

"He also appears to have picked up a stray…"

Fury heard a protesting voice in the background. "_Hey! I'm not a str…_", but Tony cut them off.

"…and some assassin-type guy tried to finish the pair of them off. They're lucky I was there, Fury."

"_That's a lie_!" The voice in the background immediately interjected. "_You didn't do a damn thi_…"

"Sooooo….That's basically all that's happened on this end. How 'bout you mom?"

"Tony…" Fury said with a calmness usually reserved for the mentally handicapped. "If you call me "mom" one more time I'll tell Natasha to put a dead lab mouse in your suit."

There was a silence on the line.

"You wouldn't." Stark said threateningly.

"Try me."

A pause.

"Fine." Tony muttered grudgingly. Fury allowed himself a self-satisfied smile.

"Right. Now, do you need someone to come and get you? How about Barton, is he stable?"

"Uh…." Stark said over the line. There was a pause before he came back. "Um, that's a no. He just blacked out again."

"_Again_?"

"Listen, I've gotta go. Can you hurry that up? Track my suit's signal if you have to. You can use my computer. The guest username is TONYROCKS…all caps, no spaces."

"Tony! Don't hang up…"

"See ya!"

There was a quiet beep and then silence. Fury raised his eyebrows and hung up the phone with a heavy sigh. Hill was standing beside him, her manner as intense as ever.

"What do you need me to do sir?" She said, familiar with the pattern. _Tony stark calls…something needs fixing_.

"Head down to Stark's lab. Track his suit. The password's TONYROCKS." In response to her look he added, "Don't ask questions Hill! Chop, chop!" He clapped his hands and she skittered off to the door, handing her clipboard to an officer on the way out. Fury scratched the back of his hand, thinking. If Clint and this person he had picked up had been attacked, that made _four_ separate attacks on SHIELD personal over the last week. Something wasn't right… First it had just been a random drive-by shooting while two of his agents were running a mission, then it was Natasha getting mugged by a petty criminal on the street. Next it was the Cap's window getting shot out by someone in a building neighboring Stark Tower and now it was Barton getting shot. This couldn't just be coincidence…could it?

Fury cracked his neck, a bad habit he knew, and wished that despite all of this he could at _least_ get some sleep. He hadn't been able to stay in bed for days. Maybe it was stress. Yeah, it had to be stress.

Hill came back into the control room several minutes later, Stark's laptop under her arm. She handed it to Fury who opened it and examined the screen. A satellite image of the Earth spun around filling the entire screen. A green light started blinking somewhere in Brazil and the image zoomed in closer until buildings and streets were visible.

"Wow. Clint sure does choose strange places to request missions…" Fury muttered. He handed the laptop back to Hill. "Take us there."

A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A

It had been quite some time since Bruce Banner had nearly Hulked out in his sleep. For the longest time he had been convinced that bad dreams were a thing of the past for him. Guess not.

He was in his lab, slumped over a computer monitor, when he was jolted awake by an unusually vivid dream. In it he was in a city street packed with people. Someone spilled a cup of coffee on him and he was suddenly the Hulk. He tore people apart, roaring and crashing through apartments, destroying cars and buildings as the people screamed around him. It was all _too_ _real_. He awoke in a cold sweat, his first instinct being to reach for the syringes of tranquilizers on the counter beside him. When he realized that it had only been a dream he calmed down some, but still pulled the box of medication closer to himself…just in case.

He took a few deep breaths, running an anxious hand through his hair. He had been avoiding his quarters, afraid to fall asleep. This was the third close-call this week, and for three days the threat of hurting someone after Hulking in his sleep had kept him awake and in the lab. He wasn't really thinking about his work, but he did keep himself busy by running most of the calculations in his head instead of using the computers.

Bruce rubbed his thumbs over his eyelids wondering how long he would be able to keep this up. Maybe he should just stick himself with the tranquilizer and hope to God he didn't hurt anyone when he woke up. No…things weren't _that_ desperate yet. He would simply wait for the dreams to pass. It was probably just a phase anyway…stress from the last few months…that was all.

Banner stretched and looked back at his computer screen. A half completed equation glared back at him. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was for. He shrugged to himself and got back to work, thinking of all that ways he could waste his time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey peeps! I'M BACK! Clint whump and sadness are coming up, so keep in mind that I am very against character deaths and very **_**for**_** realism, so I'm doing my best…But first, a little Natasha and Steve!**

A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A

"Hey, are we moving?" Natasha asked. She was taking a break from using the Helicarrier's gym and was leaning against a wall, drinking water and watching Steve Rodgers smash the hell out of a punching bag. Steve paused and tilted his head to the side, listening to the engines.

"Yeah, I think you're right." He went back to his exercise, but Natasha was stuck on the issue. She crossed the slightly springy wooden floor of the gym to the punching bags and stood beside Steve.

"You'd think Fury would tell us where we're going." She added, frowning and crossing her arms. She watched Steve knock the bag off of its hook and slam into the floor several feet across the gym. He sighed and grudgingly walked over the retrieve it.

"He's busy Nat. And maybe it's nothing. Maybe we need to get gas of something." He said, picking up the bag and walking back to the hook. Natasha gave him one of her _looks_.

"We have refueling planes for that. And we don't even _use_ natural fuels anymore. No, Fury's _definitely_ up to something." She looked thoughtfully into the distance. Steve suddenly chuckled, drawing her attention.

"Yeah, _or_ you think he's found Clint." He teased, punching the bag again.

Natasha's eye narrowed.

"_So_? So what if he did?" She knew immediately that her defensiveness was uncalled for, but she _really_ didn't want to admit that she was worried sick about Barton. It didn't fit with her demeanor.

Steve shook his head, but knew better than to contradict an annoyed or nervous Natasha.

"Maybe he's just trying to keep us safe. You getting mugged and me having my window shot out…that doesn't happen every day, you know?"

"I'm going to talk to Fury." Natasha declared, starting for the exit. Steve watched her go and knew that it would be foolhardy to try to stop her.

He sent another bag hurtling across the gym. As he went to get it his mind wandered to the dream he had endured the previous night. It had been a nightmare…a bad one. It was more like a flashback, watching the crash happen again and again…hearing the voice of the woman he loved faintly through the radio and knowing that they would never see each other again…watching Bucky die before his eyes, replaying all of the things he could have, _should _have done.

Just remembering how clear that dream had been made him give up on the gym and go take a cold shower. Maybe he should talk to one of the Helicarrier's resident shrinks. Or not…it was just a dream. War does things like that to people all the time. He dismissed the thoughts and wondered if Natasha had pulled her gun on Fury yet. While he disagreed with many of Natasha's tactics, he had to admit that he was just as curious of Fury's actions as she was. After all, this wouldn't be the first time SHIELD had withheld important information from the Avengers…


	13. Chapter 13

**Okay…NOW whump and sadness…Sorry people, but there has to be **_**something**_** that really sums up Clint and Kyla's relationship. Also, getting shot and falling off a building isn't exactly a minor thing, so for the sake of realism I have made his injures a touch more severe than I had previously intended. Oh well, he'll get better…I promise! Oh, and unlucky chapter 13 too…Oooo…SCAREY! ;-)**

A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A

"How long is this gonna take?" Kyla asked. Tony put his phone back in his pocket and looked down at her. There was a weird moment when all he could see was this girl, _Kyla_, clinging to Clint Barton's hand with anger and concern plastered on her face. Tony kneeled beside her and put two fingers to Clint's neck, checking his pulse.

"Not long. If I know Fury at all he's probably booking it to get here." He assured her, though he wasn't entire confident himself. A lot had been happening at headquarters and Fury might have bigger fish to fry.

"He overdid it." Kyla said quietly. Stark looked up and noticed that every hint of emotion had been wiped from her face. "I made him walk too far too soon. I was being stupid."

"Hey." Tony said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and moved away, but didn't say anything. "This isn't your fault." He looked at Clint who was still out cold. He decided that if Fury didn't show up within the hour they were going to have a pretty rotten day.

"You wanna help?" He asked Kyla. She was looking distractedly into the nearby street and her bight green eyes shot back to him when he spoke.

"How?" She said quickly. Tony bit his lip for a second, knowing that everything they did could raise or lower Clint's chanced of a clean recovery. He called on a few first aid classes he had endured in high school and something he had read about anatomy while building his suit.

"Okay…so I think the first thing we should do is stop the bleeding…"

Kyla sent him a critical look. "No _duh_ Sherlock." She muttered. Before he could think of an appropriate comeback she had pulled out a knife. Tony was at first alarmed and scooted back across the asphalt. She rolled her eyes at him and gently held the side of Barton's shirt between two fingers. She then made a slice through the fabric all the way across, revealing the bullet hole in his stomach. Stark was no slouch, nor was he squeamish (he had a freaking _hole_ straight to his heart), but this made him gag.

The wound was pouring blood in an amount that seemed disproportionate to the injury. Both Kyla and Tony's eyes tracked over to the dead man on the ground where Kyla had left him. Beside him was a scratched and beaten-up .22. It would make a small hole, but at close range it was as lethal as anything.

"Put your hand here." Kyla commanded, pointing to the injury. Tony looked at her with distaste and she glared at him. "Now!" She shouted. Stark jumped and winced as he laid his hand on the gushing wound. He threw the unconscious Barton a look and wanted more than anything to be somewhere else.

Kyla was hard at work. She had picked a sweatshirt up off of the ground nearby and was using her knife to cut it up into strips. The longest of these she handed to Tony who took it in his free hand.

"Tie that tight around his stomach, okay?" She said. Tony nodded with a disgusted look on his face but did what she asked, the black fabric barely able to slow the flow of blood. Meanwhile, Kyla was holding more of the stripes to another injury on Barton's side with one hand and using the other hand and her teeth to tie a third bandage around his upper arm. Tony noted how painfully efficient she was. Didn't she have a gag reflex? He shook himself.

_I'm being such a little girl…_ He told himself and held out his hand.

"Can I have another one? He's bleeding like hell over here." Kyla, without looking up, handed him another bandage and continued tending to what Tony assumed was the knife wound Jarvis had described.

"Hey, is there a hospital near here? We can't do this for long." He said, wiping sweat from his brow and smearing Clint's blood across his forehead. Kyla looked up at him, frowning.

"No."

"Right…" He returned, her tone having told him everything he needed to know. "You seem to know what you're doing." He added, trying to remain calm, but fearing that he was rambling instead.

"Shut up and open my bag…" She said tersely, angling herself so that her backpack was facing him. Tony was silenced and managed to unzip the pack with his bloody fingers. Inside were a number of random objects including a change of clothes, some canned foods, and Clint's bow and arrows, the bow in its folded position. Immediately Tony's opinion of Kyla went up. Clint wouldn't let _Fury_ touch his bow. The fact that he was letting Kyla carry them was proof enough that she was trustworthy.

"Get my water bottle." Kyla ordered, shaking him loose of his thoughts. Tony dug around the bag until her found a plastic water bottle and took it out. Kyla swiped it out of his hand and opened it. Tony watched her as she poured some water onto the knife wound, clearing away the blood. While it immediately bled out again, it gave Kyla a quick look at the injury, enough at least to cover it completely with the cloth in her hand.

"What now?" Tony asked after a momentary pause. Kyla shook her head, deep in thought. She didn't answer immediately.

"Wait." She said hopelessly. "Just…wait."

Tony couldn't argue with her logic and silently held the bandage to Clint's injuries, adding a new one every time it bled through. For once he was lost for words. He wasn't really sure how he felt about the situation. Was Clint going to die? What if he did? He had no idea how he was supposed to feel about that. Sure, they didn't always see eye to eye, but they were still _semi_-friends most of the time. Tony decided right then that he wasn't going to _let_ Clint die. He turned to Kyla, who looked equally absorbed in her thoughts.

"You live here?" He asked her nodding to the street. She looked up and shook her head.

"No. About a day's walk that way." She said, gesturing the opposite direction of the road.

"How did you, you know, _find_ him?" He asked her, nodding to Clint. She shrugged like it was no big deal.

"He fell of a building right in front of me. He wasn't exactly hard to find." She muttered. Tony got the impression that she was trying to end the conversation, but he was determined not to let silence take hold.

"Why did you save him though? You didn't have to." He pressed. She glared at him.

"What do you care?" She snapped. "He's alive. Isn't that _enough_ for you?"

Stark didn't like being yelled at, especially not by young women.

"Hey, I was just trying to figure out what you're after, kid!" He shouted back. Clint moved a little with a groan, but it was unclear whether it was because of Tony's voice or pain from his injuries.

"Don't call me "kid"." Kyla snarled.

"Fine. Don't yell at me." He retorted.

"Fine." She said grudgingly. Tony decided that conversation with her was worse than silence and gave up trying to talk to her.

Tony lost track of how long they were sitting there. It was long enough for his legs to get sore from kneeling and he stood up to stretch, letting Kyla take over holding Clint's bandages. It was beginning to get hot out under the sun and Stark was sweating under his hoody. He took it off and tossed it to Kyla.

"Put that on him. We should keep him comfortable." He said lamely. He didn't know what else to say. Kyla nodded in agreement and draped the large shirt over Clint's shoulders. The time of silence seemed to have lightened her distrust of Tony a bit and he decided to reattempt conversation.

"Are you worried about him?" Stark asked. Kyla didn't look at him.

"Yeah. I'm worried." She said, her voice uncharacteristically low. "Are you?" She asked, her sharp green eyes tracking over to him. Stark stuttered for a second, unsure how to respond.

"I guess so. I mean, he's a friend. So yeah, I'm worried about him." He said, stumbling over his words. He was trying to keep it together in front of Kyla, but he was finding it harder than he had thought. Clint was his _friend_…

"I think we can save him…but we're going to need help." Kyla said. Tony laughed hollowly. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"Yeah. I'm gonna need more than aspirin, guys."

Kyla and Tony's eyes both shot to Clint. His eyes were squinting open and he was smiling weakly. Tony ran to his side and Kyla gave a relieved laugh.

"Jeezes, Barton…" She sighed, still holding the bandages to his side. Clint's eyes rolled over to her and he groaned.

"I feel like crap." He said simply. Tony shook his head.

"Stop talking man, you're supposed to be dead, remember?"

Clint frowned and shook his head. "Am I? I sure feel like it…" His eyes closed for a second and his head rolled to the side. Kyla reached forward and kept him from falling sideways.

"Clint? Hey, Clint!" Tony said, snapping his fingers in front of Barton's face. Clint took in a deep breath and his eyes opened again, this time he was blinking, trying to stay awake.

Kyla continued to hold him up, afraid that he would hurt himself if he passed out again. She tried not to think about the stories she had heard of people waking up from unconsciousness seconds before they died. Clint wasn't going to die. She wouldn't _let_ him.

"Clint, stay awake, okay? Help's on the way." She assured him, ignoring Tony's incredulous look at her gentle words.

"Help?" Barton rasped, coughing hoarsely.

"Yeah." Kyla said, nodding. "The Helicarrier thing, Tony called it. They're gonna come and get us now." She looked up at Tony who, for once, had nothing to say. She looked back at Clint and put another bandage on his side where the last strip of fabric had bled through.

Tony was almost as out of it as Clint. He kept thinking,

_No, not again…not again…not another Coulson._

He would never have admitted it while he was alive, but Coulson had actually become his _friend_. And now he was gone. Now he was gone and he would never have a chance to tell him that. Even so, Tony couldn't bring himself to talk to Barton at this point. He'd pull through, of course he'd pull through. How could he not? He was an Avenger for Lord's sake! He'd seen worse…

It was several minutes later Clint was out again. She was trying to wake him up and checked his pulse. She found it to be a low, but at least it was still existent. She jumped when someone touched her arm. She was surprised to find Tony giving her a sympathetic look that didn't quite fit his features.

"Take a fiver, I've got him." He said gently, but in such a way that she knew better than to argue. She was too tired and too mixed up in her own thoughts to put up much fight anyway. She hesitated, but stood. She cast Tony a look that all too clearly told him what she would do to him if Clint died while she was away.

With that, she started walking. She didn't know where she was going, only that her feet were moving. It was helping her organize her thoughts, but she couldn't help but feel like she wasn't getting very far in that department.

Kyla had never cared about someone so much that she was terrified that they might die. Sure, if someone who was about to pay her for a job kicked the bucket she would be pretty mad, but this was _so_ different. Clint wasn't giving her anything…was he? Nothing tangible at least. Not money or food, not even the promise of a favor later on. She told herself that she was going to leave Brazil with _his_ help, but she couldn't make herself believe that. If Clint died Tony would take her to the Helicarrier and out of this hellhole.

_So why in the _hell_ was she crying?_

Kyla's hand leapt to her face as the first wet drop rolled down her face. She wiped it away and stopped walking. She looked at her hand where the tear glistened in the sunlight. She could only remember one time that she had cried. That had been caused by a different sort of pain. This hurt so much worse.

There was only one reason. She cared about him. Plain and simple, in three days Clint Barton had become her one and only friend on planet Earth, and now he was dying. He was _dying_ and she was standing here worried about her own psyche.

Kyla turned on her heels and started to run back the way she had come. She wouldn't let herself believe that this was Clint's last day, but if it _wa_s…she sure as hell would be there for him.


	14. Chapter 14

"Agent Romanoff, _please lower your weapon_." Fury groaned, looking at Natasha like she was a slightly annoying mosquito. Natasha clicked her 9 mm and her eye narrowed.

"Not until you tell me where we're going."

"We're going to get Agent Barton and Stark. Satisfied?" He muttered. Natasha slowly lowered and holstered her weapon.

"No." She put her hands on her hips and Fury raised an eyebrow at her.

"He's injured, but we'll be there within the hour. They're in Brazil and we were already flying over Mexico, so we should be able to treat him in time."

Natasha didn't say anything.

"_Now_ are you satisfied?"

"Yes." Romanoff turned on her heals and stormed out of the room. She stepped into the elevator and turned back to him. "I want to be on the recovery team." she said sharply as the door closed. She wasn't asking.

Fury let out a long sigh and waved over an officer as he passed by, scribbling on a clipboard.

"You there, Anderson."

"Yes sir?" The man asked, standing at attention.

"Get me a freaking aspirin."

Kyla returned to Tony and Clint and sat back in her place on the ground. Tony threw her a questioning look but didn't ask where she had gone…or why she had come back. Clint was awake again and she smiled at him. He didn't smile back. He coughed hoarsely and she winced as blood continued to seep through the bandages. She held one hand to the knife wound on his side and with the other gently gripped his hand. Tony raised an eyebrow at her.

"Shut up." She said before he could comment. Stark shrugged and leaned against the wall beside Clint. He looked back at the pair of them and was about to say something along the lines of "well this sucks" but at that moment his phone rang from inside his pocket. Kyla watched him as he pulled the device out and examined the screen. He put it to his ear and gave Kyla a thumbs up.

"Hey Fury. What's shakin'?"

"Stark, where are you? I've got a medical team and Natasha down there looking for you."

"Really? That was quick."

"Stark, _where are you_?"

"Uh…" He looked around, searching for a landmark. "Okay, ask them if they can see a building with a sign that says "_Restaurante_" in blue block letters." There was a pause before Fury's voice returned.

"Yes, they're on that street."

"Okay, tell them to keep going south until they get to the dumpster with "Free the Doves" written on it."

"Alright..."

"Tell them to figure the rest out for themselves." Stark said. He hung up. "Hello Natasha." He said with a grin as a red haired head peered around a corner. Natasha frowned, examined the alley, and ran to Barton's side. She didn't even appear to notice Kyla's presence, or the fact that she was holding Clint's hand.

"Jesus, what did you do?" She had turned on Tony with anger and he put up his hands and backed away down the alley. Four men in SHIELD uniforms tore around the corner and entered at the alley. They stood at a distance, obviously waiting for orders. Kyla looked at them distrustfully and scooted a little closer to Barton.

"I didn't do anything!" Tony said defensively. "I found him like this! Even ask her!" He added, pointing at Kyla. For the first time Natasha and Kyla's gaze met. Natasha's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" She asked. Kyla saw two hip holsters and several knives strapped to her belt.

"Kyla." She said, refusing to be intimidated. Stark groaned.

"Dear God, there's two of them."

Kyla and Natasha both looked at him in confusion for an instant before they understood. Kyla suddenly remembered Clint mentioning a "friend" of his that Kyla had reminded him of.

Evidently Natasha was too concerned with Barton to fight it out with Kyla or Tony at this point and waved over the medics. The four men descended on Barton with such speed that Kyla was thrown out of the way as they rushed to unpack their medical supplies. She immediately struggled to get back to him but Tony grabbed her arm. She looked back at him helplessly and he shook his head slowly.

"You'll just get in the way. Let these guys do their job, they're good. Trust me."

Kyla wanted to argue, but couldn't seem to find the words. She found herself unable to watch the doctors working on Barton and instead wandered a little further down the alley and sat on the ground in the shade of a dumpster. She took out her knife and sharpened the blade on a chunk of sandstone she kept in her pocket, listlessly moving the knife back and forth over the rough surface. When she was sure the blade could cut through a tree trunk she put it away and started to draw in the dirt with her finger. She drew complicated swirls and patterns, but still couldn't take her mind off of the situation…or the pained breathing of Clint across the alley. Couldn't they give him something for the pain? Had they? Kyla kept herself from crying only by drawing the outline of a person on the ground and putting x's over all of the major pressure points.

She heard footsteps and someone sat down beside her. She didn't look up. She thought that looking at anyone right now would probably make her cry, and while she had let her earlier tears slide she couldn't show weakness in front of Tony or Romanoff.

"The doc says he should be fine. You did a good job slowing the bleeding." Said Tony. He put an arm around her shoulders and this time she didn't push him away.

"What am I supposed to do now?" She asked, more to herself than to Tony. There was a pause.

"Acho que você deveria se tornar um Vingador. Poderíamos usá-lo." ("_I think you should become an Avenger. We could use you._")

Kyla nearly laughed in surprise. She looked up at Stark and met his smug gaze.

"Você fala Português?" ("_You speak Portuguese?_")

"A bit." He chuckled at her shocked expression, almost forgetting the gravity of their situation. He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and stood up, dusting himself off. He held out a hand to her. "Come on. They're going to take us to the Helicarrier." He helped Kyla to her feet and together they walked to where the medics were carefully lifting Clint onto a stretcher. Natasha was "overseeing" their actions, as she put it. Tony described it as "guarding"…but not to her face.

"Hey Stark?" Kyla said. Tony looked over at her.

"What?"

"How are we going to get there?"

Tony shrugged. "The usual way you get into a giant flying aircraft carrier I'd expect."

"Which is…?"

The pair of them walked past the group of doctors and turned out of the alley and into the street. Parked right in the middle of the street was an official looking black helicopter, its tail inscribed with the image of an eagle circled by a ring and the words "Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistic Division."

"That's innocent sounding…" Kyla muttered under her breath as she and Stark made their way down the street.

"Yeah, I know. They prefer to be called…" Started Tony, but another voice finished for him.

"SHIELD."

They had reached the helicopter and stopped as someone stepped out. He was a tall man and was dressed in a long black trench coat. He was dark skinned and had a black eye patch over one eye. The man stepped over to the pair of them. He gave Stark a quick nod and offered a hand to Kyla. She took it and gave it a strong-handed shake, the same one she gave to the people who hired her. This man looked in charge.

"Kyla Amano, I presume?" He asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, and you are…?" She said with a small smile.

"Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD."

Yep, he was definitely in charge, and if she was going to be working with SHIELD Kyla was pretty sure that made him her boss.

"Pleasure to meet you Sir." She said as respectfully as she could.

"The pleasure is mine." He returned. He looked past her and she followed his gaze. Coming down the street toward them were the four medics, each holding a corner of the stretcher Clint lay on, and Natasha running along beside them.

"How's he looking Greg?" Fury asked one of the medics as they passed and entered the helicopter.

"Not good, but he'll make it Sir, no doubt about that." Said the man. He disappeared into the helicopter with the stretcher and Kyla watched them, wishing that she could run in after them but knowing that she had to look tougher than she actually _was_ in front of her new boss.

"I want to thank you, Kyla Amano. From what I've gathered you saved our archer's backside more than once these last few days." Fury said to her. She smiled and gave a quick shake of her head.

"I'm just looking for a way out of here Sir. I did what anyone else would have done." She said, trying her best to deny any emotion driving her actions. Even with one eye, she could tell Fury saw straight through her.

"Right, 'cus anyone else would have spent three days giving all of their food and water to a dying man they didn't know."

_How the hell did he know that?_

Kyla shrugged and shook her head innocently. Fury gave her a lingering look before turning and walking toward the chopper. Kyla and Tony exchanged glances and followed.

Kyla had never been in a helicopter before. She had been offered a ride in one once, but had politely refused with the knowledge that the man offering her the ride would likely push her out the door once they were at altitude.

This chopper was a military one. There were places on the walls for medical kits and weapons to be stored as well as two rows of seats running along each of the walls, facing each other across the small aisle between them. Kyla was directed to a seat at the far end of the chopper across from Fury. Tony took the seat closest to the door and Natasha crouched on the floor amongst the doctors as they continued to tend to Clint.

Kyla watched the doctors as they wrapped Clint's stomach and chest in gauze, adding white strips over the black ones that had once been her sweatshirt. They knew better than to remove any of the bandages, even after they bled through. Clint looked semi-conscious, and now that they were in the chopper the doctors were hooking up an oxygen mask to an air tank fixed to the floor. Natasha was holding his hand and none of the doctors were brave enough to send her away.

"Kak vy sebya chuvstvuete?" She asked him in a language Kyla didn't understand. Clint's eyes opened a sliver and he gave a small laugh.

"Kak avtokatastrofe." He answered, also in the strange language. It didn't sound anything like Portuguese. Kyla wanted to ask someone what they were saying, but Tony, Fury, and the doctors looked equally baffled.

A man with a pilot's helmet looked over his shoulder from the cockpit and yelled to Fury.

"Are we takin' off sir?"

Fury gave the doctors a quick nod before giving the signal to take off. The pilot turned around in his seat and started to fidget with the controls. Immediately the chopper's rotors began to turn and dust on the road outside was flung into the air. Tony slammed the door closed and cold air came out of an overhead ac unit. Kyla was made uncomfortably cold by this and she didn't much care for the small space she found herself in. Even so, she felt a sudden thrill as the chopper left the ground. It swayed slightly, making her heart leap. Fury looked over at her across the aisle.

"You alright Ms. Amano?"

"Yeah, I've just never flown before." She said hurriedly, trying not to look like a kid with a new toy. Fury nodded with a smile.

"Got it. I hear you're in need of a job?"

Kyla was aware of a number of eyes watching her at that moment. Tony and Natasha were both watching out of the corners of their eyes and the doctors had lowered their medical-chatter to a whisper. Was being an Avenger really that big a deal?

"Um, yes. Sort of. I understand that you were already going to ask, you were simply…set back."

Fury examined her face and she tried to keep all emotion aside. She didn't like thinking about that part of her life and would avoid it as long as she could. It was likely enough that Fury already knew all about what had happened between her and Coulson, but did he know what had happened to her _after_? Did he even know that she had saved the agent's life?

"That's very true, Kyla Amano. It was our mistake to have caught you at such an inconvenient time."

There was a rattling cough from Barton and the doctors readjusted the mask over his mouth and nose, but his hand reached up and pulled it away. They tried to hold his hand back, but he started talking, cutting them off.

"Fury…Kyla's g-good. We…need h-her…" His head sank back to the stretcher and the doctors went back to work. Fury and Kyla looked back at each other and Kyla shrugged with an innocent smile.

"Well, as long as we were going to hire you anyway…" Fury said quietly. Kyla's smile went up a couple notches. Suddenly Fury's expression darkened and she knew something serious was about to be said. Fury frowned intently at her before he spoke. "Do you realize that to be an Avenger you will have to work with a team of individuals with equal or superior skillsets to your own?"

"Yes Sir, I do." She said calmly, but Fury wasn't done.

"…as well as risk your life for people that you do not know and may not support you and what you do?"

"I do Sir."

"You know that you may suffer serious injury of both your physical and mental state?"

Kyla cast Clint a glance. "Yes Sir."

"You understand that people you know may be in danger because of what you do…?"

"I have no surviving family or friends Sir."

"…and that you cannot back out. The fate of the planet we live on may rest on your shoulders at some point in the near or distant future?"

Kyla locked eyes with Fury. She didn't answer immediately. The planet. The _whole_ planet.

"I understand fully and completely, Director Fury." She said evenly. There was a long silence. The helicopter rocked and the blades made a loud swooshing sound through the roof above them. Fury put out a hand.

"Then welcome to the Avengers Initiative Kyla Amano."

They shook hands and out of the corner of her eye Kyla could see Tony and Natasha exchange looks that she couldn't read. Were they upset or indifferent to her becoming an Avenger?

"Oh, and before I forget…" Fury said suddenly. "Do you have a codename that you would like us to use?"

"What, like 'Hawkeye'?" She asked.

"Taken…" Groaned Clint from the floor. She frowned at him despite herself and shook her head at Fury.

"No, not right now. I'll think about it though."

"Thank you. We try not to use real names on missions."

Kyla looked over at the rest of the occupants of the helicopter. Natasha was watching her with distrust…at least that's what Kyla could make of her expression. Without warning she stuck out a hand.

"Natasha Romanoff. You can call me Black Widow."

Kyla gave a lopsided smile and shook her hand. It was cold as ice.

"Kyla Amano. I don't have a fancy nickname."

"How a-about…D-Dart?" Suggested Clint. Kyla actually laughed at that.

"What? No…that's corny."

"Why not? I like it." Commented Tony. Natasha shrugged.

"Descriptive but vague. I like it too."

Kyla shook her head reluctantly. "Fine, I'm '_Dart' _now."

Fury nodded and smiled.

"I like that."


	15. Chapter 15

There weren't any windows on the helicopter, so Tony didn't have a chance to see the Helicarrier in flight before they landed on board. He was still going over the calculations in his head of how the massive piece of engineering could possibly fly, but still he couldn't come up with a single "solve for _x_". It just _wasn't possible_. He was annoyed that he thought this because obviously it _was_, but still…he wanted the math to come out. He didn't like flying on an unsolved equation.

The gentile bump of the helicopter touching down got him to his feet in a hurry. He was itching to get back to the lab. All he wanted right now was to get away from all the sickness and depression and occupy himself with hacking into Fury's personal computer.

Flinging open the doors before the rotors had stopped turning, he took off across the tarmac, not bothering to stay for the pleasantries of Fury showing off his flying fortress to the new recruit. He didn't disliked Kyla, he just didn't want to spend time with new people right now. Maybe Banner had been sleeping at night and would actually _talk_ to him today. He liked the guy, but he did get a little wound up in himself sometimes. Not without reason, but still, he could make an effort to show up to breakfast every once in a while.

Maybe he should call Pepper? Girlfriends liked it when you called, right? Stark had been spending more and more time away since New York, partially because the team was on alert and partially because of something Happy had said.

It had been a long day and he and his sort-of-assistant had been sitting on the roof of Stark Towers with a six pack of beer and a stack of "Popular Mechanics". The conversation had drifted and Happy had said something that really got to him. He hadn't meant it to, obviously, but only Tony Stark could be so chilled by the sentence, "You know Mr. Stark; if you keep it up with a steady girl like this you'll end up with a ring and three screaming little-Starks!"

And so…he had run away. The genius, billionaire, Playboy, and philanthropist had run away for fear that the woman he loved would ask to marry him.

Maybe calling wasn't such a good idea for the time being.

Clint was in the operating room for way too long…_way_ too long. Kyla was sitting in a metal chair in the steel-walled waiting room outside the emergency-care unit of the Helicarrier's medical section. She had been waiting there for well over four hours. She had run after the doctors as they rushed Clint to surgery, hardly registering the fact that she was on an aircraft carrier…_in the sky_. She had been held back from the operating room by soldiers who were kind to her, but made it clear that she wasn't allowed in. She had taken a seat and was determined to wait it out.

She had only seen two people in that time. A doctor had come in and smiled warmly at her before disappearing through a windowless door without a word. Natasha had also come in, cast Kyla a meaningful look, and had stormed with purpose into the operating room. The fact that she stalked out several minutes later, furiously slamming her fist into a wall on her way out, was enough to convince Kyla that attempting to enter the room herself was foolhardy in the least.

And so, she waited some more. Unfortunately, the longer she waited the more nervous she became, not the other way around. The longer she sat there, the more she became convinced that Clint had died in surgery and that they had forgotten that she had forgotten that she was waiting. Would she just sit here all night waiting for news on a dead man?

The sound of a door opening made her jump a good foot out of her chair. The door to the operation room had opened and a doctor stepped out. He had on a full medical coat that dropped down to his knees and sky blue trousers and white booties on his shoes. He had short-cut brown hair and stunningly white teeth as he smiled at her. He crossed the room and she watched him intently.

"You're Kyla, aren't you?" He asked, sitting down in a chair opposite her. She nodded wordlessly and he sighed, offering a hand. "My name is Doctor Jeffery Hoffner. I'm the chief medical officer on board the Helicarrier. You can call me Jeff."

Kyla shook his hand weakly. "Kyla Amano. Apparently I'm an Avenger now."

Jeff smiled. "Yes, I heard about that. I'm happy to see some _fresh blood_ around here." He chuckled and Kyla's face remained perfectly straight.

"Sorry…bad doctor joke…" He said apologetically. He cleared his throat in a down-to-business fashion. "One of my surgeons told me you were waiting for news on Agent Barton."

Kyla nodded with a little more vigor than she had intended. She was enormously relieved that Jeff didn't look like someone delivering bad news.

"Well, I'm happy to report that his condition is stable. I wouldn't put my money on his doing a whole lot for quite some time, but he really owes you a lot."

Kyla gave him a questioning look and he gave a small laugh.

"If you hadn't given him the care you did he would have been dead two days ago. He's got a number of life threatening injuries." He paused, waiting for this to sink in. Kyla nodded slowly.

"Can I see him?"

"Well…ICU patients aren't really supposed to have visitors…" He began. Kyla's face fell visibly and she nodded. "But…" Jeff added in an undertone. Kyla looked up and met his mischievous eye. "You don't look so good yourself. What happened to you wrist?" Kyla glanced at her wrist where she had been injured one year before. It still hurt, but she had grown used to it. It certainly looked worse than it was. Slowly she caught on to the doctor's game.

"Yeah, you know, I'm not really up on my shots either…" She added in a stage-whisper. Jeff feigned shock and got to his feet, grabbing her by the arm.

"Dear Lord! We can't have an untreated foreigner onboard a government aircraft! You're coming with me!" Kyla couldn't suppress a grin as Dr. Hoffner led her through the door to the ICU.

The Intensive Care Unit was a tangle of white tiled halls with doors all down their lengths. It reminded her unavoidably of a very clean version of the slums she grew up in. Slightly disturbing labels were hung on the wall beside each door, some of which included "Enemy Combatant Treatment Center", "Unknown Weaponry Injury Treatment Center", "Specialized Care Center", and, most off-putting to Kyla, "Non-Human Treatment Center".

"What's that for?" She asked Jeff, pointing to the last door they passed.

"Well, let's say you were trying to kill someone but you didn't and now you feel guilty and want to make them all better…"

Kyla got the impression that he didn't care for the particular area. She didn't press the matter and around the next corner was the end of the hall. A single door with no window was labeled, "Surgery and Intensive Care Unit". Jeff pulled out an ID card he was wearing on a strap around his neck and swiped it on a small black panel beside the door. He typed in a five digit code on the keypad beside it and the door beeped quietly. Jeff gave Kyla a friendly smile and led her through.

The surgery room was off in another door to their left, and to their right was a second door. This one had a small window that allowed Kyla to see a row of hospital beds beyond the door. Jeff pointed to the door.

"You can go ahead in, I'll be right there to take a look at that arm of yours." He winked and went to a sink set into a counter in the corner and washed his hands. Kyla hesitated, but made her way to the door. She pushed the handle down gently and it swung open silently. She stepped in, closing the door behind her, and looked around the room.

It was uncomfortably _medical_ in her opinion, but she figured that there must be a reason for that. There were two rows of beds along each of the walls and a counter ran all the way around the room, littered with medical supplies and more than a couple instruments that Kyla couldn't even begin to recognize.

It didn't take long for her to find Barton. He was in the bed in the back corner of the room and as Kyla approached she could see that he was hooked up to a tangle of wires and tubes that made her stomach drop a few inched toward her feet. It was sickening, but she tried to keep it together, just for a while longer. If that's what it took to keep him alive…then fine. Clint was also dressed in a medical gown that really, _really_…actually she couldn't stress this enough…_really_ didn't suit him. Like all the other beds, this one had a chair beside it and she took a seat as quietly as possible. Barton looked asleep and she didn't want to wake him up.

It turned out that even she wasn't quite enough to avoid Barton's sensitive hearing and his eyes opened slowly. He didn't see Kyla right away, and she saw his facial expression morph from pain to confusion to surprise and finally annoyance.

"_Damn…_" He groaned.

"Tell me about it…" Kyla muttered. Clint's head tilted toward her and he regarded her with skepticism.

"Right…and you decided to come to the Helicarrier after all, huh?"

Kyla nodded with a shrug. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad." he answered without hesitation. Kyla gave a sympathetic smile. At least he was doing better than before.

"Hey, thanks for putting in a good word for me. Fury hired me you know."

Clint frowned in confusion.

"A good word?"

"Hey, you know…'_Kyla's good, we need her_'?"

Clint settled back against his pillow.

"I have no memory of that conversation."

"Ah…" Kyla said, deciding that it was probably best not to stress him out by insisting that he had spoken out on her behalf. "The doctor says you should be fine." She said, trying to find words that didn't sound insensitive. Barton raised his eyebrows at her and she shook her head. "Yeah, you know what? Never mind…" She stood up and turned to go. She couldn't do this. It was so damn _awkward_!

"Thank you."

"Beg pardon?" She snapped, spinning around to face him.

"I said 'thank you'. Jeff sad you saved my life."

Kyla's jaw clenched and unclenched for a second.

"Yeah, well, I couldn't let you croak in my front yard, could I? You'd smell terrible by morning." To her enormous relief Clint took her words as sarcastic rather than an actual denial and laughed weakly.

"Uh huh…Come back here. I'd like the company." He nodded to the chair beside him and Kyla sighed and sat back down. Really, it wasn't like anything else she would be doing was much better. "So, Fury made you an Avenger?"

"Uh, yeah. I think that's what happened…" Kyla said with a slight grin. Clint nodded thoughtfully.

"That's good…how'd he do it? Formally or did he just wing it?"

"Seemed pretty formal to me."

"Did you shake hands?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, that's good." Barton said, smiling. "That means he likes you."

Kyla chuckled slightly. "Really? He doesn't seem like the "liking" type."

"Just stay on his good side. Stay on his good side or you'll end up like Stark."

Kyla's eyes widened a bit at that and she decided to make Nick Fury her best friend for the time being. Their conversation was interrupted as the door of the recovery room opened and Dr. Hoffner entered. He smiled warmly at them and approached, a clipboard under his arm and a metal try containing a number of medical tools in his hands. He put the tray down on the counter by the bed beside Clint's.

"Ah, it's good to see you up Barton. How are we feeling?" He asked in typical doctor conversationalist. Clint cast Kyla a side glance.

"What is it with shrinks and talking about other people in the plural?" he murmured. Jeff shrugged.

"Tools of the trade… If you could just take a seat here, Agent Amano…" He patted the bed next to Clint's and she nodded, standing up from her chair and walking over. _Agent Amano_…she liked that.

Jeff politely asked her to put out her right arm and she did so, albeit a little nervously. She had never been to a real doctor before, unless you counted the one that came to treat the young children at the orphanage. Even then, she usually hid under the stairs until they were gone. She didn't care for needles…too much like what druggies used on themselves…it brought back memories.

"Have you ever had an injection before?" Jeff asked gently, apparently reading her expression as he put on a pair of blue medical gloves and pulled out a syringe that seemed greatly out of proportion to her arm. Kyla shook her head and honestly felt like she was going to throw up. She mentally cataloged all of the sinks in the room, just in case, and Jeff put his gloved hand over the crook of her arm, hiding it from view as he slipped in the needle. It helped not being able to actually _see_ it as he slowly…_very_ slowly, pressed on the syringe's end, injecting the clear contents into her bloodstream. With an expert hand he pulled out the needle, laying it out of sight behind his back and holding his thumb to the place on her arm. It hurt, but hardy at all.

"There, see? Nothing to worry about." He pulled a circular band aid out of nowhere and placed it over the pinprick. He patted her on the shoulder and she gave him a lopsided smile. She looked around him to Clint who was watching them with mind amusement.

"Kyla Amano…the girl who can kill you twenty different ways with a playing card and she still can't handle getting her shots…" he said with a teasing grin. Kyla threw him a dirty look and Jeff put an arm around her shoulder.

"You kiddin' me Barton? She handled that beautifully." He winked at Kyla before adding, "At least she didn't whine about whose blood we were feeding her during surgery…"

Clint's expression suddenly darkened, like he had remembered a really important appointment he had missed.

"Oh no…You didn't actually…"

Jeff gave the equivalent of a mad scientist's cackle. "Sorry Barton, there's only one other person on board who has O- blood."

Clint rose up a fraction from his pillow, propping himself up on his elbows, and glared threateningly at Hoffner.

"If you tell him I swear to God I'll…"

"Bleed on me?"

Barton glared at him for a few more seconds before his arms gave out under him and he flopped back to the mattress with a groan. It wasn't clear to Kyla what was going on, but Jeff was still smiling like a maniac.

"You sure get a lot of enjoyment out of this job, don't you?" She asked him, running a finger over the bandage on her arm. Jeff did the evil chuckle again.

"Yeah, well, there's not a whole lot to do at the end of the day around here. Pitting these guys against each other like betta fish keeps most of the staff sane."

Kyla frowned at this but had to find it slightly amusing. She risked a look at Clint and saw that he was asleep again. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

"Whose blood was it?" She asked. His smile grew significantly.

"Tony Stark's."

Kyla almost snorted with laughter. "Don't you _dare_ tell him!" she snickered, having known Tony just long enough to understand Barton's concern.

"You're right…that's almost too cruel." Hoffner chuckled. He straightened himself up, checked some monitors by Clint's bed, and turned to go. Kyla reluctantly stood up from the bed and followed. She almost ran into him as he suddenly stopped and spun around.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked. Kyla shrugged. She really didn't know what she was supposed to do now. "Oh, no, no, no…you're staying right here." He held her arm and steered her back to the bed. He was at first confused, but soon caught on. "I haven't taken care of that wrist yet. You should stay here until I have a chance to treat it." He winked and Kyla winked back, resuming her seat on the bed. She decided that she liked Jeff Hoffner. He understood her…not an easy task for sure.

Kyla smiled at Jeff as he left the room and closed the door behind him. The lights dimmed themselves to a comfortable glow as the door shut and Kyla took another look around. A clock on the wall opposite her read 10:30 pm. Had she really been on board for four and a half hours already? She suddenly realized how tired she was. She had only caught a wink of sleep the night before in the alley and hadn't slept at all for at least another two days. She didn't bother pulling the covers over herself before she fell into a deep sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Clint awoke in a cold sweat. Until about three months ago he would have been alarmed by this, but since his somewhat unpleasant run in with Thor's maniacal brother Loki he had grown somewhat used to the residual feeling of terror as he awoke from a nightmare.

This was different. It wasn't his usual cloudy memory of killing SHIELD agents, this was more solid. It was almost like it was happening all over again. The same lump grew in his through and the same coldness tore at his heart. He was a killer…a stone cold killer…of people he had shared meals with in the mess hall. True, they were hardly his friends, but still…He could call most of them by name.

Barton tried to slow his racing heart and to calm his breathing, but he was having more trouble than usual getting a grip. He was thankful for the dim medi-bay lighting; at least that kept him from panicking in total darkness. His eyes darted around the room and fell on the bed beside him. For a moment his muscles contracted, preparing him for a confrontation, but then the person rolled over in their sleep and he could see their face. It was Kyla…just Kyla. He let out a long rattling breath and gasped, wrapping his arms around his stomach as a sickening throb ran through his abdomen.

_Oh yeah, I got shot._

He leaned back slowly, painfully letting go of his gut and laying flat on his back. He _hated_ sleeping on his back. He groaned and looked over at Kyla, trying to ignore the stiffness in his broken leg and resisting the urge to move it.

Kyla was out, like, _out_. She wasn't snoring thank God, but she didn't look like she would wake up for anything less than a minor explosion in the medi-bay waiting room. Clint was glad she wouldn't wake up though. He didn't want her to see him like this. It was bad enough, him being drugged up and injured beyond movement, but nightmares were for kids.

Kyla looked less lethal in sleep. Her facial muscles were relaxed and her eyes were closed loosely. He was much too young for him…hell; he was probably old enough to be her father, but he had to admit that she was really quite attractive. Her hair was still pulled back in a ponytail but strands had come loose and were draped over her face. Clint dragged his eyes away. She was reminding him too much of Natasha.

Where was she anyway? He had a vague memory of her coming in while he was being prepped for surgery but didn't know what had happened after that. He guessed that Fury had her working on something but still, she would normally have broken down doors if necessary to see him. He shook that thought out of his head. It was just the dream…the dream had made him nervous and a little freaked…that was all. He tried closing his eyes but knew at once that sleeping without the aid of some serious anesthesia was impossible. He just lay there in the dark, listening to his body's numerous complaints, and waiting or the night to be over.

At about one in the morning he heard a noise from the bed beside him. He cracked open his right eye and looked over. Kyla was sitting bolt upright in bed, her head held in her hands and her face contorted in terror. She was gasping like she was in tears, but it was too dark to clearly see her face. She tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, curling into a ball. Clint decided to pretend to be asleep rather than intervene. Had she had a nightmare too?

Kyla stayed curled up for a long time, and Clint could clearly hear her crying. It hurt him worse than his broken leg to see Kyla, one of the strongest people he had ever met, broken down like this. Twice he nearly spoke up, but both times he couldn't muster the courage to let her know that he had seen her like this. If she was anything like him she wouldn't want anyone to see her cry.

Clint actually fell asleep an hour or so later, but Kyla was up almost the whole night, too afraid to return to her dreams. She was better off exhausted than terrified. She had suffered from flashbacks before, but this was so real. _Too_ real.


	17. Chapter 17

"Banner? Hey Banner, I'm home!" Tony stepped into the lab and tossed his jacket over the back of a chair. He looked around for Bruce and found him asleep with his head on a computer's keyboard. The screen was filled with a lab write up and at the end was a garbled "_jaugrueq;bhldsqggfy_", marking the point where Banner had drifted off. Tony nudged him in the arm and he snorted, jolting awake blearily.

"Dammit Tony, I was just getting some sleep…" An imprint of the keyboard was imprinted into the side of his face.

"Yeah, well, that's what beds are for."

"…Says the man who runs on batteries and coffee..."

Tony laughed. He couldn't argue with that. Banner stretched and rolled his shoulders, looking with dismay at his lab write up.

"I actually can't remember writing this…"

Tony walked over to his own computer, flicking the "on" button and waiting for the holographic screen to come to life.

"Hey Jarvis. What's been happening around here?"

"_Hello Sir. The last four days have been mostly uneventful. No news to report._"

"Thank you…" Tony stood up and started to fidget with the small hotel-style coffee maker in the corner. "Any new emails?"

"_You have received an email from Director Fury…"_

"Save it for later."

"…_two emails from the Stark Industries Board of directors…" _

"Delete 'em."

"…_and seven emails and nine messages from Miss Pots."_

There was a pause and Banner snickered at him from across the room.

"Shut it." Tony snapped.

"_Sir, it appears Miss Pots is quite determined to speak with you._"

"Later. I'm busy."

Banner was still chuckling to himself. "Yeah, finished hacking into Fury's computer yet?"

Tony sent him a warning look but he did his best to ignore the comment. "I'll take care of that tomorrow…" He muttered. He managed to extract a drinkable sample of coffee from the useless machine and took a long swig from his "Stark Industries" mug. He _really_ needed to work on his relationship skills.


	18. Chapter 18

**Holy WOW…it's been a while, hasn't it buddies? Okay then, so, I'M **_**BACK**_** PEEPS! A lot has been going on, including the making of a short film that is taking up an INSANE amount of time… But it's a ton of fun! I've been writing a LONG way ahead recently so I'll start up my regular updates again. (Yippy! Writing outlet!) Oh, Aaaaand…. Guess who recently became a Deadpool fan? Meeeeeee!**

**Random fact of the day: I was nearly hit by a car yesterday. NOW YOU KNOW.**

**Also, I do NOT own the Avengers. If I did I would not be writing **_**FAN**_**fiction!**

**Love ya'll…and PLEEEEEASE review! I won't write if there's no one to write FOR! Come on, you're all writers, you know how it is. So, PLEEEEEEASE? I've got two more stories (Kyla included in them, thanks very much ;P ) and It would be a shame if readers started dropping off now. Thanks for reading!**

A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A

Kyla must have blacked out from exhaustion rather than fallen sleep, because the first thing she noticed when her puffy eyes opened was that Natasha had entered the room. If she had only been asleep even Natasha's quiet footsteps would have woken her. Even so, Kyla's primary concern wasn't her lack of sleep but concealing her red eyes and the deep rings beneath them. She didn't need news that the new recruit had spent the night in tears to get around to the rest of the Avengers, whoever they were.

Natasha was sitting with her back to Kyla facing Clint's bed and sitting in a chair. The two of them were talking in low tones, the kind used by parents talking about "grown-up things" near children. Kyla let out a yawn and Clint looked over.

"Hey, look who's up."

Natasha turned around in her seat and watched Kyla stretch her arms and sit up in her bed. Something about the Black Widow's gaze confirmed something Kyla had already guessed at; she and Clint had been talking about her.

"Morning…" Kyla said groggily as she rubbed her eyes. She could see Clint much more clearly now that the lights were on. She was pleased to find that he looked considerably _less_ dead. His skin had taken up a much more healthy looking hue and the cuts and bruises had either been treated or covered by bandages. His leg was propped up on a pillow and his arm was in a brace, nursing his injured shoulder. He didn't look good enough to run a marathon, but Kyla was happy to see improvement.

"How are you?" She asked him anyway, wanting to hear it from him.

"Fine. Sore as Hell but the pain meds did the trick." He smiled at Natasha who frowned.

"They're also making you a bit on the giddy side. Maybe I should leave you kids to yourselves for a while…" There was a distinct air of coldness to her words that Kyla couldn't pin to any one thing. Had she done something wrong? Natasha stood up to go but Clint stopped her, reaching out and grabbing her hand with his good arm.

"Oh come on Nat, don't be a stick in the mud."

She glared at him, returning to her seat. Kyla was a little off-put by their relationship. It was clear that Natasha really wanted to be there when Clint was hurt, but now that he was up and talking she wanted nothing more than to get away. Was she making Widow uncomfortable?

"I have to go and find Mr. Fury. I kind of cut him off yesterday…" Kyla said, getting to her feet and heading for the door. She would leave these two alone for the time being. Natasha scared the _hell_ out of her.

"It was nice meeting you." Natasha said after her, though there was a distinct lack of sincerity in her words. Just as she was leaving the room, Clint chimed in.

"Don't call him '_Mr. Fury_'…It's 'Fury', 'Director', or nothing."


	19. Chapter 19

**Um….hiiiiii…this is a touch awkward…**

**So, basically, after a few people messaged me asking if I was dead I figured I should make a quick re-appearance and probably explain my writing hiatus.**

**So, in actuality, this has NOT been a break from writing, rather, a break from THIS story. I have cranked out several original novels, or nearly completed a few. I also hit a roadblock (like, BAM) with this story and wrote the END of **_**Super Power, Slums, and Sweethearts**_** , as well as the beginings of TWO sequels, so DO NOT PANIC…PLEASE! I'm really very sorry about not letting ya'll know before dropping off the face of the Earth, but sometimes these things just happen. That said, here is a well awaited chapter 19! Yay!**

**Also, leave a comment answering THIS question….**

**Are you a **_**Nightcrawler**_** fan? (hehehe… :) )**

Kyla left the ICU the way she had come in. Her years in the slum allowed her to recall the route out of the tangle of hallways and unmarked doors without much difficulty. It must have been sometime in the morning because she ran into a number of doctors as she went, most of them busily rushing around carrying bags and clipboards or pushing carts with medical gear laid out on them.

Kyla left through the double doors of the waiting room and into the small breezeway separating it from the tarmac outside. Kyla pushed open the door and stepped out, a sudden blast of cold air blowing back her hair as she stepped outside. She shivered. The only thing she could compare this to was once when she had been locked in a walk-in freezer for three hours. For the record, she had _let_ herself get caught that time.

Kyla scanned the landing area, staying well behind the yellow caution line that paved the walking area around the outskirts of the tarmac. She wasn't really in the mood for getting hit by a landing fighter jet today. A number of crews of people were crowded around the grounded planes and helicopters, working on engines and training new pilots. There was an enormous amount of activity going on and Kyla felt slightly out of place as she wandered around with nothing to do. She figured that she should go see Fury, but where was he? Where was _anything_ for that matter? Would alarms go off if she tried to open a door?

Kyla walked quickly out of the way as two men carrying a large crate ran past her on the footpath, nodding respectfully and disappearing from sight around the corner of the medical unit. Kyla shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, her bare arms frozen by the brisk wind and cold air. She decided to just walk into the first door she came across, hoping that it would somehow lead her to her next task. She wandered a little bit further down the path before cautiously pulling the handle of a large glass door. It opened and she stepped inside, finding herself in another breezeway. She walked across to the next door and entered into a plain-walled and concrete-floored hallway. Pipes and wiring lined the ceiling above her and bright overhead lights gave the impression of a harsh military presence to the hall.

Soldiers carrying guns were patrolling the halls, most of them passing right by her without a glace, but some of them pausing to look at her before continuing on their way. One man even stopped. He was an older man in his late forties. He was dressed in full uniform and carried an M16 held tightly in his hands.

"Hey, who are you?" He said in a voice that suggested a life-long smoker.

"Kyla. Kyla Amano…" Kyla said hurriedly, unsure if she had done something wrong. Reflexively her right hand tightened around the knife in her pocket.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you." He gave a curt nod and walked away, obviously off to do something terribly important.

"_Okay then_…" Kyla muttered to herself. She flipped a mental coin and decided to go left down the hall. Just for kicks she tried to open a few of the numerous unmarked doors along the walls, but all of them were locked. When she reached another intersection Kyla figured that maybe she should just wait and ask the next person she saw for directions. At least that way she wouldn't have to put up with the embarrassment of getting lost on her first day on the job. For the first time in several minutes she was alone in the halls, and without the low voices and echoing footsteps she found it to be eerily quiet. The four-way intersection of halls around her was silent as the grave. She leaned against a wall and sighed heavily. Her voice echoed through the halls and she shut up, years of practicing silence and stealth taking over.

There were about five minutes of silence and Kyla was beginning to wonder if she shouldn't just head off in some random direction. Then she heard footsteps. They were heavy and coming from someplace in the hall to her left. She stuck her head out to look but the hall took a sharp turn and she couldn't see who was approaching. The same way it did whenever she was on edge her heart started to pound. She put her right foot back for better balance and her hands slowly curled into tight fists. She didn't feel safe here.

The second the man ran into view she realized her concern was pointless. Partially because of the size of the man (she couldn't have fought him if she wanted to) and also his face. When he saw her he wasn't defensive like the guards, he was curious. Curious people are harmless.

He was blond haired and blue eyed. He wore a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants and he was jogging. At least that's what Kyla could make of it. She dropped her fists, somewhat embarrassed, and gave a curt nod, stepping aside to let him pass. She didn't think she had ever seen a man with more muscles before in her life, not even dealers' body guards could compare. Instead of passing by her, the man stopped and looked her up and down. Kyle gave a lopsided smile which he returned effortlessly. He was hansom when he smiled.

"Hey. You new here?" He asked. He was American.

"Yes." Kyla answered quickly. She chewed on her lower lip. The man suddenly put out a hand, making her jump back a little, but he ignored it.

"I'm Steve. Steve Rogers. You can call me Cap if you want."

"Kyla, Kyla Amano. You can call me Dart."

"Oh!" Steve said, giving her hand a firm shake. "You're the new Avenger Fury was talking about!"

"Um, yeah. Yeah I am." Kyla said, her smile getting more genuine. Okay, so this guy was probably an Avenger too. That meant she could trust him…right?

"Oh good, everyone was getting nervous that we lost you on your first day! Where are you headed?"

"I'm trying to find Director Fury. Have you seen him?"

"Hasn't he given you your quarters yet?"

"No."

"Uniform?"

"No."

"_Introduced you to the team_?"

"Nope."

"Geeze…Okay, I'll take you over there so you two can talk then I'll take you to meet the other guys, that sound good?"

It was somehow comforting to talk to Steve. He had the air of someone that knew exactly what needed to be done and the best way to make it happen. Kyla didn't feel like she had to do everything herself.

"That'd be nice, thanks." She said. She followed Steve back the way he had come jogging, having difficulty padding along with his long stride.

"So you have a power, right?" he suddenly asked.

"Fury didn't tell you?"

"I try not to read up on team members before I meet them. I draw my own conclusions."

"That's nice…"

"What?" Steve asked, obviously reading her expression.

"I don't like people knowing about me. It feels weird here…like everyone knows who I am and I have no idea who _they_ are."

"I know what you mean."

Kyla looked up at him. He was facing forward while they walked, waiting for her to speak but clearly closing that branch of discussion.

"Yeah, I have a…a sort of…" She was momentarily lost for the right word. What was it that she had? A gift? A skill?

"An ability?" tried Steve.

"Yeah, an ability. I can climb up walls."

Steve looked down at her with raised eyebrows. "Really?"

"…and I can jump, and some other stuff."

Steve left that alone as they turned a corner. The hall ended and at the end was an elevator door. They walked up to it and Steve frowned at the two buttons, up and down. His hand froze a few times on its way to the button before finally pressing "up". Kyla frowned, but didn't ask. There was that awkward _no, you talk first_ moment as they waited for the elevator, and Steve took the bullet just as the door opened.

"I don't like these things."

Kyla followed him in and the door closed behind her. Immediately the room began to rise and her stomach dropped.

"Yeah…I _really_ don't like these…" Steve said again.

"Uh huh..." Kyla muttered. She tugged uncomfortably on her shirt and suddenly remembered something rather important.

"I've got nothing to wear but this…" she said. She was suddenly struck with the realization that she was covered with dirt, powder burns, and blood (more Clint's than hers). No wonder the guards had looked at her like slugs were coming out of her ears. She looked like a freaking axe murderer.

"Oh, yeah…huh."

Again hesitating on the buttons Steve pressed a blue one near the "down" arrow. The elevator stopped and Steve hit the "3".

"It's probably best if you don't make your first impression on the bridge crew wearing…that."

Kyla gave an appreciative grin. "Thanks."

"I don't know where your quarters are exactly but I think there's some spare clothes that'll fit you in the training room."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

"No problem Miss Amano."

"_Kyla_…"

"Sorry. Kyla."

The elevator dropped them off at the third floor and Steve led the way down another maze of identically militaristic hallways. She did her best to not stare at him, but somehow she couldn't keep her eyes from wandering to the back of his head. This wasn't unusual for her, she never liked to leave any unfamiliar person out of her sight for long, but she had already established a sort of trust with Steve. She was simply intrigued by him. From the way he talked to the way he combed his hair, something about him was fundamentally different from everyone else she had met on the Helicarrier.

"Um, Captain?" she said, an uncharacteristic hesitation to her voice. Steve slowed his walk so that she was walking beside him and looked down at her.

"Yes?"

"What's your, uh..."

"Gift?"

"Yeah."

"I'm a supersoldier."

"Oh…" Kyla said, wondering if she was supposed to know what that meant.

"It means I'm super strong and can heal fast."

"That's gotta come in handy."

"You have no idea." He said with a grin. "It helped in the war."

"Where? Iraq?" Kyla asked.

"Germany."

Kyla opened her mouth to say something but didn't bother. She had gotten too many cryptic answers to questions in the last three days anyhow.

"Here we are." Steve said all of a sudden, walking over to a glass door and opening it. Kyla waited for him to go in but he just stood there, holding it open. He smiled and nodded his head to the room beyond. Kyla suddenly understood that he was holding the door open for _her_. She didn't know why, but somehow this gesture struck her. No one had ever held a door open for her in her life.

"Thanks." she said quietly, returning Steve's smile and walking into the room. It was a small room, no bigger than the waiting room of the med area had been. Another door way led into a much bigger room that appeared to house a large number of weight lifting machines and other workout equipment. Beside the door was a wall of cubbies, some with clothes in them, others with workout equipment and shoes.

Steve crossed over to this wall and pulled a few items of neatly folded clothes out of one of the top cubbies. He offered them to Kyla.

"I don't know how well these'll fit, but it's better than…" His eyes dropped to her bloody shirt and jeans.

"Yeah, I got ya." Kyla interjected with a smile.

"There's a bathroom over there you can change in." Steve added, pointing across the workout area to a closed door beyond. Kyla nodded walked through the doorway in the direction of the sparring ring. The floor was padded and slightly springy beneath her bare feet.

Emerging from the bathroom, she looked at herself in the full length mirror that hung on the wall by the sparring ring. The clothes, a tight-fitting and plain black jumpsuit, were a touch on the uncomfortable side, but she figured that she could get used to it. She wasn't overly thin or overweight and she really didn't care what people thought of her as long as she ditched the "ax-murderer" look.

"Sorry, but that's all we've got in your size." Steve said, walking up behind her. Kyla turned around to face him.

"No, it's fine." She said dismissively. She looked around him at the door. "So, where to next?"

"Uh, do you want to see your quarters? There's one bunkroom left on our level."

As the two headed for the door Kyla glanced over at Steve curiously.

"_Our_ level?" she asked.

"Yes. Well, the Avengers' level anyway. Tony is very possessive."

"Possessive?"

"If you touch his coffee mug before nine a.m. he says he'll "put on the suit". Yes. He's very possessive."

Kyla couldn't hide her slight chuckle. Steve had just confirmed everything she had so far thought of the famous and internationally recognized billionaire. He was a complete and total man-child.

It was also clear to Kyla that Steve Rodgers didn't care much for Tony Stark. She thought about asking, but decided against it. Best not to ask too many questions this early on.

The pair of them headed down a number of intricate halls and rode in two elevators before arriving at a large metal door. They talked a little, and Kyla learned that Steve went by the code name "Captain America", and that he cringed slightly when she mentioned remembering a story about him as a child. He asked her very few questions, and for that she was thankful. She really wasn't in a mood to reopen old wounds. He asked her how Barton was feeling and if she was planning on staying in the Helicarrier or getting an apartment someplace. She told him that she didn't seem to have much choice, but that she wanted to stay on the Helicarrier. At least there she was guaranteed three meals a day. This seemed to confuse Steve a bit until he remembered when they had picked the young woman up.

"Well, don't worry about food here." He said, smiling as he opened the metal door in front of them. "I think the cooks here are _trying_ to get us to gain weight."

Inside the room it was dark, and Steve felt around for a switch as Kyla stepped inside. When the fluorescent light came on she saw that the room was larger than her shack back in the slums. A twin-sized bed with a grey comforter and fluffy pillows was set against the right hand side wall and looked like it could be folded into the wall for more space. A small desk with a white lamp and flat-screened computer monitor were on the other side of the room and to the left were a closet and a door leading to an attached bathroom.

"This is nice." Kyla said, stepping further inside. Steve left the door open behind him and followed her in a ways.

"It's not much, but it has the essentials. Personally I spend most of my time in the gym or rec. room.

"No, really, this is bigger than where I lived…yesterday…" Kyla said slowly, drifting off as she realized the truthfulness of her own sentence. Steve gave her an odd look but didn't ask.

"Yes, well, feel free to search the computer for a map. It's voice activated…whatever that means…" he muttered, stepping outside. Kyla turned to face him.

"Hey, thanks for showing me around. I appreciate it."

Steve gave an uncomfortable smile and nodded. He hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, then left, disappearing around the corner and down the hall. The door shut automatically behind him with a "swoosh" and Kyla sighed heavily. She fell onto the small bed and closed her eyes.

24 Hours ago she had been running for her life from a bunch of mystery men, dragging _another_ mysterious man along with her for no real reason…and now she was sitting on a bed on a freaking _flying aircraft carrier_ going who-knows-where for who-knows-how-long.

Funny how situations change…


End file.
